The Face of a Warrior
by NightSwordSW
Summary: Betrayal. Loyalty. Sacrifice. Love. And one promise from years ago whose legacy has yet to be unleashed. This may be the war against Caedus, but nobody knows who lurks in the shadows. Jaina, Jag, Zekk, Kyp, J/TK, H/L, Luke, OC's. LOTF AU post-Fury
1. Dramatis Personae and Trailer

**A/N: **This is a story that I have going at the TFN forums under the username NightSword. It takes place after _Fury_ by Aaron Allston and follows the course of the war. Thanks to NYCityGurl over at TFN for betaing!

**Dramatis Personae**

Allana Djo; Hapan princess (female human)  
Aulani Syani; commander, Twin Hearts Squadron (female human)  
Ben Skywalker; Jedi Knight (male human)  
Cem Fel; CEDF pilot (male human)  
Chaf'ees'aklaio/Feesa; aide (female Chiss)  
Chaf'orm'bintrano/Formbi; politician (male Chiss)  
Corran Horn; Jedi Master/Council member (male human)  
Danni Quee; scientist (female human)  
Darth Caedus/Jacen Solo; Sith Lord (male human)  
Darth Voldeur; Sith Lord (female Fosh)  
Davin Fel; intelligence operative (male human)  
Denjax Teppler; Minister of Intelligence, Corellia (male human)  
Evlyn Tabory; Jedi (female human)  
Fyor Rodan; Prime Minister of Commenor (male human)  
Genna Delphin; Admiral, Corellian Defense Force (female human)  
Gilad Pellaeon; Supreme Commander, Galactic Alliance Forces (male human)  
Han Solo; captain, Millennium Falcon (male human)  
Jagged Fel; pilot (male human)  
Jaina Solo; Jedi Knight (female human)  
Jysella Horn; Jedi Knight (female human)  
Kenth Hamner; Jedi Master/Council member (male human)  
Kyle Katarn; Jedi Master/Council member (male human)  
Kyp Durron; Jedi Master/Council member (male human)  
Leia Organa Solo; Jedi Knight (female human)  
Lowbacca; Jedi Knight (male Wookiee)  
Luke Skywalker; Jedi Grandmaster (male human)  
Mirax Terrik Horn; smuggler (female human)  
Mitth'ill'ayatako/Thillay; CEDF Intelligence Head (male Chiss)  
Nas Choka; Warmaster (male Yuuzhan Vong)  
Quill Car; Shamed One (male Yuuzhan Vong)  
Saba Sebatyne; Jedi Master/Council member (female Barabel)  
Sasuni Lraka; GAG commander, Unit 555 (male human)  
Shawnk'yr'nuruodo/Shawnkyr; CEDF Major, Spike Squadron commander (female Chiss)  
Soontir Fel; CEDF Assistant Syndic (male human)  
Tahiri Veila; Jedi Knight (female human)  
Tenel Ka Djo; Queen of Hapes, Jedi Knight (female human)  
Thag'raff'nuruodo/Graff; Commander, Thrawn's rogue phalanx (male Chiss)  
Tiraku Kiftu; Jedi padawan (male Rodian)  
Turr Phennir; Supreme Commander of Confederation Forces (male human)  
Valin Horn; Jedi Knight (male human)  
Wedge Antilles; pilot (male human)  
Wes Janson; pilot, Galactic Alliance (male human)  
Yub Stimson; bounty hunter (male human)  
Zekk; Jedi Knight (male human)

**Trailer**

_**[The music "Victory Celebration" begins to play.]**_

Announcer (voiceover): Ten years ago, after the defeat of the Yuuzhan Vong, the galaxy believed that they were finally at peace…

_[The camera shows Zonoma Sekot entering hyperspace.]_

Announcer (voiceover): …but time has shown over and over again that peace rarely lasts, and few of them realize that a new threat is already rising…

_**[The music transitions to "Anakin's Theme" as Wedge speaks.]**_

Wedge (voiceover): The pressures that have brought this war into being are unambiguous, easy to identify. But there's additional string-pulling going on that is harder to bring into focus. 3

Announcer (voiceover): …both in the Galactic Alliance…

_[The scene fades to show Vergere standing next to another Fosh.]_

Vergere: Sister, I leave the legacy to you. When I am gone, it will be yours to continue.

_[The scene switches to a small room in Corellia. Delphin and Teppler sit in two chairs, slouching and staring fixedly at the floor.]_

Delphin: And what else can we do with errant Jedi?

Teppler _[sarcastically]_: Assassinate them?

_[The camera zooms in from behind to show Aulani swathed in a flowing blue dress, and standing in front of a hanger where twelve X-wings spiral down to land in a triangular formation. The pilot from lead ship hops out and walks towards her, saluting on the way.]_

Pilot: You may not wish us in this battle, Your Highness, but Hearts Squadron is ready to serve our people. We are ready to fight.

Announcer (voiceover): …in the Imperial Remnant…

_[The scene switches to the bridge of a different ship, with technicians and soldiers swarming all over. Gilad Pellaeon stands at the front, wearing his white uniform and gazing out the transparisteel. A young Lieutenant approaches him.]_

Lieutenant: The Death Star is now operational, sir.

Pellaeon: Excellent.

Announcer (voiceover): …and in the Unknown Regions.

_[The scene switches to show a clawcraft blowing up with a grey moon silhouetted in the background. After a moment, a scream is heard.]_

Syal Fel: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…

_[The scene zooms in to show Syal's face, then switches to a view of Soontir in a formal garden, standing next to a uniformed Chiss.]_

Thillay: Have you made a decision, then?

Soontir: We are ready, now. Commence operation Cem.

Thillay: I will let Graff known. The first attack will commence at 0200 hours.

_[The camera view moves quickly over a lush planet covered with Vong, stopping outside a small hut with two Yuuzhan Vong standing outside.]_

Nas Choka: We are ready to return to the known galaxy.

_**[The music switches to "Imperial March."]**_

Announcer (voiceover): A new war is already beginning…

_[The scene shows Luke Skywalker looking at a holo of Formbi on the screen in front of him.]_

Formbi: You will withdraw your Jedi from Akaith. Immediately.

_[Jacen Solo stands dressed in a GAG uniform and a black cape on a stage. In front of him, a huge crown, all of whom are wearing black GAG uniforms save for the holoreporters, stands and applauds.]_

Announcer (voiceover): …it has already been over three decades since a full Sith Lord has been given free reign over the galaxy…

_[The screen turns black. There is a flash that shows a red lightsaber, and then two glowing eyes.]_

Announcer (voiceover):…but three powerful forces are already battling amongst themselves for the position.

_**[The music switches to "Luke and Leia."]**_

Announcer (voiceover): This war will be a war between families…

Myri Antilles (voiceover): But if you look at family ties, one minute you all together, and then, boom, you were scattered across the galaxy.4

Announcer (voiceover): …every family in the galaxy will be torn apart… the Solos…

_[Jaina and Jacen are facing each other in a dark room, their lightsabers crossed.]_

Announcer (voiceover): …the Skywalkers…

_[In Luke Skywalker's office, Ben Skywalker is standing, glaring at his father.]_

Luke: I'm not asking you as the leader of the Jedi. I'm asking—as your father—for you to do it.

Ben: No. I'm sorry, but I can't.

Announcer (voiceover): …the Solo-Djos…

_[The camera pans gradually through the royal palace, showing the bodies of guards and people alike thrown against the wall. It stops in the throne room where Tenel Ka, her arms around Allana, is facing off with Jacen.]_

Tenel Ka: I won't let you take her.

Allana: Father…

Announcer (voiceover): …the Horns…

_[Valin stands watching as his father and sister board a ship. The ship takes off, and Valin continues to watch it until it enters hyperspace.]_

Valin [whispering]: Goodbye, father. Goodbye Jysella.

Announcer (voiceover): …and the Fels.

_[The scene transitions into showing a formal ball, then zooms in on two dark-haired men, one with brown eyes and one with green. A hidden blaster materializes in one of their hands, and the sound of a single blaster shot echoes through the room as one of the two figures sinks to the ground.]_

_**[The music switches to "Han Solo and the Princess."]**_

Announcer (voiceover): And as this war progresses, they will learn the meaning of love…

_[The camera reveals a snubfight above the jungle planet of Tenupe, then zooms in to focus on Jaina in one of the X-wing cockpits.]_

Jaina: Jagged, we—I—want you to know that I still love you. And I always will.5

Announcer (voiceover): …of betrayal…

_[The scene shows Fyor Rodan pacing back and forth behind his desk and shouting at Aulani, who stands calmly on the other side._

Rodan [sputtering]: But…but…you promised to do what is best for the people!

Aulani: I promised to do what is best for my people, Councilor. Not what is best for yours.

Announcer (voiceover): …of sacrifice…

_[The scene shows Kyp and a small group of Jedi huddling in the shadow underneath a cliff. The camera angle is wide enough to show a large battalion of soldiers camped out at the top of the overhang.]_

Kyp: Go rescue her. I'll hold them off.

Announcer (voiceover): …of loyalty…

_[The scene now shifts to the Jedi temple, where a group of padawans stand talking in a corner.]_

Tiraku: This is our fight, now. Our duty is to peace.

_**[The music switches to "Yoda's Theme."]**_

Announcer (voiceover): …but nothing will be that simple, because there is one more legacy that has yet to be unleashed…

_[The scene starts with an icy planet, but immediately begins to zoom in, stopping inside a dark room where four figures stand silently.]_

Jag: I promise.

Shawnkyr: I promise.

Cherith: I promise.

Aulani: I promise.

Announcer (voiceover): …and, until the secret is finally revealed, its effects will be felt in many ways…

_[Luke is standing in front of a holoprojection of Soontir Fel.]_

Soontir: I'm rather surprised that my son hasn't already told you about it, Skywalker. The legacy of Akaith should be rather well known to him.

Announcer (voiceover): …from former loves…

_[The scene fades to show Aulani and Kyp sitting side by side on a rooftop at night. Aulani gazes absently at her hand while speaking.]_

Aulani: I suppose that I am engaged, if it's possible to be engaged to a ghost.

Announcer (voiceover): …to former flames…

_[Flanked on both sides by armed guards, Danni Quee stands in front of Jacen, her wrists bound in stun cuffs.]_

Danni: Jacen. It's been some time since we've seen each other.

Announcer (voiceover): …to former enemies…

_[The scene fades, to show Aulani facing Luke Skywalker, fury in her eyes.]_

Aulani: Both the Jedi and the Galactic Alliances made promises to the Caridan people a long time ago. And it is time that you started following them.

Announcer (voiceover): …and former hopes.

_[The scene changes to show Zekk pacing furiously outside in a garden as it rains.]_

Zekk: All I used to want was for her to finally love me back the way I loved her. Now that I finally have a chance, I won't let it go, no matter how much everyone tells me that it would be better if I did.

Announcer (voiceover): None of them can anticipate the events that are about to unfold…

_[The scene changes to show Aulani stands in front of a communications unit, tears running down her face. Not bothering to wipe them away, she nods to the communications technician standing nearby, and the unit starts recording.]_

Aulani: Greetings, people of Carida. I have come before you to ask yet another favor…

Announcer (voiceover): …so the only certainty they have left is death.

_**[The music switches to "Battle of the Heroes."]**_

_[The screen fades to black, and words appear.]_

Coming November 27th…

_[The words fade, and new words replace them, this time in bright red lettering.]_

The Face of a Warrior

By NightSword


	2. Prologue

**A/N:** I actually wrote this chapter about 1.5 months ago, and them my hard drive crashed and I lost the second chapter. I'm about halfway through the rewrite right now.

**Prologue: Split Beginnings**

_"…it was the best of times, it was the worst of times…"_ –Charles Dickens, _A Tale of Two Cities_

_Jedi Temple, Coruscant_

Sighing, Jaina threw herself into a chair and allowed her shoulders and back to slump into the cushions. As one of the multitude of bruises covering her body brushed against the hard edge of the chair, a resolute frown forced its way onto her delicate features. The pain made her sit up slightly, then—just enough to take her weight off yet another bruised portion of her anatomy. Allowing herself a quiet sigh—little more than a soft whoosh of air implying long-suffering patience—she tipped her head back and waited for Jag to acknowledge her presence.

To her side, he sat in an identical chair with back straight and posture perfect, glaring at the pristinely blank wall in front of them. Although the posture fit the man perfectly, something in the atmosphere of the room compelled Jaina into looking him over thoroughly, beyond the cursory glance in his direction when she had first entered the room. She didn't give him one of the glances of interest that she shot in his direction whenever he was looking away. Rather, she glanced towards him in an effort to interpret his expression, not just to admire his features; she stared fixedly at the side of his face until she began to see the physical signs of what intuition—born of longtime acquaintance and intimate knowledge—had already told her.

Something was very, _very,_ wrong.

Arms pressed firmly into the sides of the chair, she watched him grip the armrests with white knuckles, as if in an effort to avoid clenching his hands into angry fists . His eyes narrowed towards the blank wall. The lack of movement of his head gave her little hope that he would soon turn around to face her. As if sensing her scrutiny, his breaths began to come in perfect regularity, with one breath exactly every seven seconds—inhale for four seconds, exhale for three seconds, and then repeat. Of the signs that she observed, the tension in his jaw was the only one that could be construed as normal.

While none of the individual symptoms themselves were of significant concern, all of them taken together created a combination of reactions that would have been completely foreign to the old Jagged Fel. There were two obvious explanations that might explain his behavior. Firstly, and most simply, he could be upset, although she had no idea concerning the reason why. However, the next thought that sprung into her mind told her that he might have changed—that his reactions had changed to the point where she could no longer recognize them.

No matter how selfish the thought was, Jaina could not help but hope that it was the former possibility; her need for peace of mind dictated that she would rather believe him unhappy than believe him changed. She needed to know that the connection between the two endured—needed to be able to believe that her body and mind held at least some part of the Jaina Solo that had existed during the Yuuzhan Vong war. She needed most of all to be able to believe that she had something she could count on still being there when the war finally ended. She needed an assurance that she had something to fight for—something personal to fight for, and not just a thousand old demons to fight against.

Holding herself to her former promise to Jag , she resisted the urge to immerse herself into the Force to search for answers. If Jacen's fall had taught her nothing else, she had finally been able to understand that the Force did not hold all the answers—that while the Force might guide her ultimate destiny, she was the one to direct how it flowed through her, and those little choices that she _could_ make meant everything.

But, while she did not actively seek the Force, neither did she remove herself from it. Instead, she merely allowed her Force sensitivity to extend through the room, so that the Force became her sixth tense—she did not control the information it received, but merely how she interpreted it. However, the flicker she had detected the moment she had entered her the room left little doubt that he had noticed her; that, in addition to the way that he had automatically flung up mental barriers in her presence.

"_I want your answers, not the Force's,"_ he had said.

And she would give him her own answers. _I will not break my promise,_ she vowed to herself. _It doesn't matter that Jag wouldn't know if I broke it._ I _would know._

Laying her arms down flat on the sides of the chair, she finally sat up, mirroring Jag's position. Instead of interrupting the settled silence that had insinuated itself into the space, she paused for a long moment, allowing the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind to settle to mild gusts before she tried to fish individual strands out for conversation.

"So you came," he said finally. Coming from the same man at a different time, the comment might have almost been playful, and it most certainly would have been said under wholly different circumstances, when they actually _were_ glad to see each other. How, however, his voice held an ingrained undertone of resentment and possibly fury—the only manifestation of the anger towards her that he surely felt.

"I came," she murmured softly. "Jag, I—" Silence overtook the room again as she searched for words to say. She could hear only the sounds of his evenly controlled breaths in conjunction with her own, raggedy ones. "Jag, I—I." She paused again. "Solos don't break their promises. _I_ don't break my promises."

Though she had not been looking for it, there was no mistaking the surge of resentment in the Force, and Jaina winced. The Killik lingered in the back of their thoughts, too fresh and imprinted in their minds for the aftereffects to be completely over with. To her, the Chiss who had died were merely some among many that she had killed during a lifetime of war—while she would mourn for them as much as for any of the others, she had never met them, never known them. To Jag, however, they were people—people he had respected, lived with, grown up with, and served with—brothers.

And, even if her own actions did not provide enough evidence to disprove her statement, her brother's certainly did.

However, to Jag's credit, he did not lash out at her. "You can hardly say that Darth Caedus is still a Solo," he remarked. His voice was bland and almost indifferent, the emotion in it carefully limited to prevent an outburst; nevertheless, his hands clenched around the armrests of the chairs, and his posture straightened almost imperceptibly.

"Jag, I—" Jaina began again, forcing herself to speak out past her dry throat. "I'm—I'm sorry."

Her voice came out soft, weak, and feeble, lacking any of the confidence that she had hoped to portray. _Is this all that's left of me?_ she asked herself silently. _Am I nothing but a sword broken even before its most important battle?_

For a long moment, she waited expectantly, but he neither reacted nor responded to her apology. "Jag?" she prompted tentatively.

"What are you apologizing for?" he asked softly.

She sent him a blank look.

"What are you apologizing for?" he asked again, his voice urgent and demanding this time.

"For betraying my promise," she said hesitantly. _What else does he think I would be apologizing for right now?_

"So," Jag said, his voice sharp and accusing.

In that one word, she knew immediately and without doubts that forgiveness would not come as easily as she had hoped; Jag was no politician . If he had good news, he would not have hesitated.

"Jaina," he said with a heavy sigh. "You are asking me to forgive you for breaking a promise that was never made, a promise that was only agreed upon on one side."

Her expression grew disquieted. "If you never expected me to honor Lowie's parole," she said bluntly as the realization hit her, "then why did you agree to it to begin with?"

His eyes suddenly averted from hers, and his gaze came to rest at a point just above her head. "Because I was hoping to avoid a war," he said softly, his voice low and mournful. "Because I know what the Chiss are capable of."

"And?" she prompted, when he did not continue.

He blinked at her—or, more accurately, at the spot above her head. "There's nothing else," he said firmly.

"Jag—"

He let out another, exhausted sigh. "Jaina, these things happen," he said, still not looking directly at her. "People end up on the opposite sides of a war. We can wish that it wouldn't come to that, but…" As his voice drifted off, his gaze softened slightly so that he seemed to be staring off into midair rather than attempting to avoid her eyes.

"Jag?" she asked softly when he seemed to have little intention of finishing his sentence.

He blinked, and then finally looked at her. "What?" he asked, sounding befuddled.

"What were you going to say?" When he just blinked confusedly at her, she continued. "You were talking about people being on the opposite sides of a war…"

"Nothing," he said abruptly, cutting her off. "Just semantics. The results of spending too much time thinking without anything better to do." The corner of his mouth twitched up in a forced smile.

"Cut it out, Jag," she said sharply, straightening up to glare at him. "Just tell me what you were going to say."

"Nothing important. Just semantics," he repeated dismissively.

She ignored him. "Jag, between the Kyp, the politicians, and the holoreporters, I've heard just about anything people can think up about the topic. So just _tell me_."

As she spoke, she caught an immeasurable sense of frustration from him. "Like I've already said," he spat, "it's not important."

She sharpened her glare, but he didn't even have the grace to flinch. "Stop that, Jag. If it's bothering you this much, then it _is_ important. Why are you…" She gasped and trailed off. "You're not talking about us anymore, are you?"

He didn't reply. However, his slight flinch and the coloring of his cheeks gave here all the answers she needed.

"Who?" she whispered. "Who were you talking about? Not…?" She trailed off, unable to speak her question.

"No." It was one short, sharp syllable, but also thunderously spoken. "Not a lover. You were the only one."

She hid her relief at his confirmation. "Then who?"

His only reply was a bitter, slightly ironic smile.

"Jag!" she yelled, suddenly losing her patience at his phlegmatic manner. For Sith's sake, just tell me who it is!"

"Why?" The question was short and biting.

"Because—because I—" and then she stopped speaking. _Why do I have the right?_ she asked herself angrily. _We may not be dating anymore, but I care, and that should be enough…except that it isn't. Not anymore. Not with our history between us._

"Forget it," he cut in abruptly. "Some things are better left unsaid."

"But if it affects the war…" she said, allowing her tiredness to creep into her voice.

"It won't." However, the bite had left his words, and he did not sound at all sure of his statement.

"But just in case that it does—"

"—I will tell you then," he said, completing her thought with an understanding smile.

She smirked at him. "You'd better," she said, leaning over to playfully shove his shoulder.

When he didn't say anything, she feared for a long moment that she had overstepped—until his lips twitched once again back from their solemn expression into a smile. "Of course," he said in what was for him a fairly light tone. "I wouldn't want to upset the Goddess."

"Thanks, Jag," she said softly. She blinked furiously to fight the tears that were threatening to emerge. "I mean that." _Nobody's called me 'Goddess' since…well, since happier times,_ she thought to herself, but did not say aloud.

"I know." His voice was gentle and reassuring. "I've had two years of free time to think about that."

She flinched slightly at his offhanded mention of his stay on Tenupe, but must have managed to control it enough that he didn't notice, since he simply looked at her, waiting for a response. Only after a long silence did she see his eyes widen in understanding. "Sithspit, Jaina," he said hurriedly. "I didn't mean—"

She nodded. "I realized. I'm just not used to it yet," she said softly, her throat still somewhat dry.

There was a question in his eyes as he tilted his head slightly. "And when you do—"

"—I'll tell you then." She echoed the words he had said only a few moments before.

He smiled then—a real smile that was finally something more than a bitter twitching of the lips. As always, the actions caused something in her to flutter wildly, and, if she just leaned forward by a few inches… _You can't, Jaina,_ she reprimanded herself firmly. _Not until you're ready._

"I'm leaving," Jaina said softly, still reluctant to break the comfortable silence that had settled over them. _Just please don't get mad at me for it. This is something I have to do._

When he didn't look disappointed, angry, or even particularly surprised, she let out a breath of relief.

"You're going to see Fett, are you not?"

"I'm not that easy to read, am I?" She kept her voice purposely mild—if he was not going to ruin their gentle banter, then neither was she.

"It was the only logical choice for you to make." His face had all the expression of a statue.

"How?"

"You already have all the resources here to train yourself as a Jedi and as a pilot. All that's left is for you to train in ruthlessness. A logical choice."

_No approval, but close enough._

She sent a sharp glance in his direction, studying his face with care. Sure enough, there was the slight twist to the side of his mouth that his voice had indicated. She glared at him. "You mean that Zekk told you."

"Zekk told me," he confirmed. "Although, to my credit, he only told me that you were going somewhere dangerous. I put the rest of the pieces together."

Jaina shrugged. "Fair enough. Do you want to come?"

She was gratified to see a brief flash of surprise cross his features before his face settled into its usual mask. _So this is what I finally manage to surprise him with. Interesting._

"Why me and not Zekk?" he queried.

_Sithspit,_ she thought. _Now the two are actually conspiring against me._ Aloud, she merely said, "Fett isn't a big fan of Jedi. I figured that one would already be enough, and I'd prefer to have him training me instead of trying to kill me. So are you coming or not?"

"As much as I would enjoy spending the next few months of my life with an insane Mandalorian and a Jedi who sleeps with a lightsaber under her pillow," he said, his voice dry, "I'm afraid that I have to decline the offer."

She allowed her lips to twitch into the briefest of smile in order to conceal her disappointment. "Tell me your actual reason, then."

He sighed heavily, all humor gone from his posture, and sunk into his chair. "I need to be elsewhere," he said simply.

"Where?" she demanded.

"I still have a number of unresolved…issues from the Killik war that I need to deal with before this war progresses much further, and before Darth Caedus becomes too powerful."

"Will you still be here when I get back?" _Please don't say that you're leaving permanently,_ she added silently.

He let out the smallest of shrugs. "Very likely, although I can't make any guarantees."

_At least he's planning on coming back._

"Very well. I have to get going." She felt awkward, but nevertheless stood up and pulled him into a brief hug. Thankfully, he didn't comment. "Clear skies, Jagged."

* * *

_Super Star Destroyer, Unknown Regions_

"Aula?"

A brief rustling of clothing and an angry shout told her that her guards had already barred him from getting any closer.

"You will address Her Highness with respect," she heard one of them growl.

"Yes, _Commander_ Gavrisom?" she asked, turning around.

Aula observed his attire with a repressed snort of deep disgust. Once again, he was dressed in resplendent purple and gold robes covered with trim, as well as a billowing cape. The attire was in sharp contrast to the soft whites and blues that made up the traditional Caridan military uniform. In such, his garments reflected only upon himself, and upon neither his position nor the people he served.

While she had elected to wear, instead of her military uniform, the traditional warrior's garb—a flowing set of tunic and pants, all in a gauzy white material—her clothing still paid homage to her people.

He stopped short. "Madam Commander," he said bitterly, dipping into a barely noticeable bow.

She allowed herself a slight frown at his conduct. In Caridan society, a bow indicated respect, with the deepness of the bow indicating the strength of the respect. Considering her position as both Head of State and his military commander, such a bow would be considered by most to be an affront. And, although Caridan royalty had never been as quick to execute on such things as Hapan royalty, indications of loyalty—or lack thereof—were rarely forgotten.

Nevertheless, she pretended to ignore it, and waved one hand so that the guards would let him pass.

"Do you have something to report, Commander?" she asked as we walked towards her.

"No, Aula," he said with a cocky grin. "I mean, Commander Syani," he corrected when she glared at him, although little of the cockiness left his tone. "In fact, I was hoping that—"

"Your Highness!" An out-of-breath voice interrupted.

"Yes, Alei?" she asked, turning her attention to the handmaiden rushing towards her.

_I should not be addressed as 'Your Highness,'_ she told herself silently, _as I never officially became the Queen, only Head of State._ However, she did not bother to protest her handmaiden's greeting. If several decades had not changed Alei's mind, then a few words would do nothing further.

"Your fighter is ready, milady."

She barely had time to open her mouth to speak before Gavrisom interrupted their conversation. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked sharply. At her glare, he carelessly added, "_Milady,_" although the highness of his tone mocked the address used by Alei.

_You have no right to know,_ she raged silently. However, aloud, she merely said, "I will be returning to the Known Regions."

"Now?" His voice was incredulous and irritated. "But—"

"Yes," she said in a firm tone, cutting him off before he had a chance to say anything more. "I must leave ahead of the fleet."

"Why?" He sounded annoyed, irritated, and wheedling—all of it serving to grate on her already strained nerves.

She snapped.

"To remind myself of why we are fighting," she reprimanded. "And I believe that it would do you well to find such a reminder on your own."

_I should not have said that,_ she thought. _Now I can only hope that he does not take it upon himself to follow me._

Her voice quieted, although it did not lose any of its severity. "If you have nothing to report, Commander, you may go."

Her tone was one of firm dismissal and, despite his grimace, he left in a whirl of gaudy robes, shooting a wary glance at her guards on his way.

"Come, Alei," she said, motioning to her side. "Walk with me to the hangar."

Alei's eyes widened slightly as she stepped to Aula's side. "Will you be leaving now, milady?" she murmured softly as she followed Aula.

"We haven't much longer until the fleet leaves," Aula murmured, equally softly. "It is best that I go now, before the war begins and I am needed here."

Alei just nodded. "Will you be returning before the fleet jumps?"

Aula shrugged. "Unlikely. If all goes well, the fleet should be ready to begin the first hyperspace jump in a few days." She paused. "Stay quiet," she hissed, when it became apparent that the technicians were trying to listen to their conversation.

They stopped talking then, their soft footsteps the only sound within the empty hallways of the ship. Only when they reached the open hanger, where there were no people in sight, did Aula speak again.

"Has everything I requested been completed, then?" Aula asked, still keeping her voice low.

"It has," Alei whispered in confirmation. "All the part are in the hidden compartment. I'm afraid that you will have to make the modifications yourself, since I could not work on your fighter without attracting attention."

"Thank you."

"No," Alei murmured softly. "It is I that should be thanking you, milady. You are the one that convinced our commanders to return to the known galaxy, where we will finally have our revenge."

"Justice, Alei. Not revenge," Aula said softly, staring into space. "We will merely be observers and judges alike; we are not there to start a new war."

"And yet," Alei remarked. "Will we still remain complacent observers when we are attacked?"

Aula gave an enigmatic smile. "We will see then, will we not? We are all servants to many strands of fate, and there is little left for us to do but to watch our fates play themselves out."

"I suppose," Alei said, dubiously.

Aula smiled again, although the expression was softer this time. "I will miss you, Alei," she said, stepping forward to embrace her handmaiden. "Stay safe until we meet again."


	3. Chapter 1: Fly Casual

**Chapter One: Fly Casual**

"…_the more you see the less you know…" _–"City of Blinding Lights" by U2

_(Six months later…)_

_Flareship_

"So…" Han drawled, slouched comfortably into a chair with a full mug of brandy to his side. "What's Fel up to right now?"

While his slouch did not really change, Jaina saw him lean forward just slightly—a clear indication that this was more than a casual question.

She rolled her eyes and directed a scowl at her father. "If I knew, Dad," she said, clenching her fingers on the sides of her chair, "I would have told you already." Almost nervously—and knowing that any whitening of her fingers would be an easy tell to a man who had played sabacc since before she was born—she forced her fingers away from the arms of the chair and wrapped them around her own cup—of caf, not brandy. Taking a sip, she winced as the liquid burned its way down her throat, settling somewhere in her stomach and leaving her with a unsettled feeling.

Admittedly, it wasn't much of a lie; since she, in fact, did not know what Jag was doing, the point was moot.

"Come on, Jaina." Han hid a grin behind the mug as he took a gulp of brandy. "You're telling me that Fel just shows up in Mandalorian space, right where you are, and you're not even a little bit curious about what he's up to?"

Jaina let out something between a snort and a cough—a short, impatient, and utterly sarcastic sound. "It was hardly on purpose," she insisted. "His ship broke down and it was the closest place. Pure coincidence."

Even she didn't believe her own words. Jag would not just take random jumps around the galaxy in an attempt to find something useful; he calculated, he predicted, he analyzed, but he never _guessed._ _Something_ had brought him to Mandalore. Jaina shuddered slightly from the implications of that thought, and hoped that her parents hadn't noticed.

She had to peel her fingers away from her cup before she started to clench her hands around that, too. She gingerly placed the cup on the small table beside her, forcing herself to slow down her movements. Then she returned her hands to her lap, laying her palms flat against her thighs to keep her hands from clasping together and twisting around each other.

The alternative—and obvious—answer to her father's question had too many implications, even ten years later.

Han laughed, but without throwing his head backwards since that would have meant a painful collision with the frame of the chair. For those few moments, Jaina watched, mesmerized, as the wrinkles on her father's face dissolved into deep laugh lines. All too soon, however, it ended, and she was forced to once again see the gray in his hair and the haunted frustration in his eyes.

"There's no reason for Fel to be anywhere close to Mandalorian space."

She pressed her palms harder against her legs, even as her fingers tried to curl upwards to create fists. She blinked—or rather, closed her eyes for the briefest of moments—before turning back to her father, unable to form a coherent response. What was she supposed to say to that? What did they expect her to say?

"Han," Leia said softly, the durasteel behind her voice a warning in itself.

Jaina glanced over at her mother's slight frame that lay curled in a repulsorchair. As always, Leia appeared composed and serene—to anyone that didn't know her. A casual observer might think that her now-grey hair that was only shot with occasional streaks of chestnut brown and the circles under her eyes were a product of age, not circumstance. However, to Jaina, who had not seen her mother in just two months, the changes were startling.

She let out a nervous sigh, and reached over for the cup of caf again. If she was lucky, her mother would keep her father off the subject.

"No," Han snapped.

Jaina's relief immediately vanished, to be replaced by dread. She could feel her eyes widening slightly in fear, unable to stop the instinctive reaction. One hand reached up to nervously brush behind her ear a strand of limply dangling hair. Catching the reaction, she pulled her hand back to her cup before she could start fiddling with that same strand, and took a deep gulp of caf, letting her breath out when it no longer burned her throat.

At Leia's tired frown, Han relented slightly. "We're going to have to talk about it sometime. Would you rather have we do this when Fel gets back and I can invite him into this session?" His voice was sarcastic and tinged with anger.

Looking no happier than before, Leia loosely waved a hand into the air to let him continue.

"As I was saying," her father began, "there's only one reason that Fel would be in Mandalorian space."

Jaina gulped in a huge breath of air. She noticed dimly that her arms trembled as she waited for him to say something that she only wanted to hear from one person—someone who was not her father. It was, she thought languidly, rather like the moment in a snubfighter when she had no shields left, and could only watch as a shot approached her ship in what seemed like slow motion, hoping that her reflexes would allow her to hit the eject button before she exploded into nothingness.

"You."

She blinked. There was no explosion, no sound, no thrill of adrenaline as the shot impacted; she had been lucky, seen the shot, and deflected enough to avoid it—this time at least, her reflexes had saved her.

"He didn't come to see me," Jaina said firmly. She allowed herself a small smile when she managed to avoid clenching her hands.

Han, of course, misinterpreted the smile. "Of course he did," he said blithely, ignoring her denial. "Now what did he tell you?"

"If you're asking me whether he told me what he was up to, the answer is no," Jaina muttered. She buried her face deep into her hands, taking deep, slow breaths and furiously rubbing at her temples in an attempt to stave off the impending headache.

It didn't work.

During the Vong War, she had had Jag to help her with the solitary headaches. After that, the Killiks were more than enough to distract her from her own mind. The frequent headaches—the kind that she was now starting to get used to—had only started after Jacen's decline.

All Jaina wanted at the moment was blissful—peaceful—sleep, even if it was riddled with nightmares.

"And you didn't ask?" Her father's eyebrows flew up.

"I did," Jaina said curtly. She cherished most of her memories with Jag, but that was one of the few that she would rather not remember.

"He didn't tell you?" Leia asked softly, stating the obvious.

Jaina raised her face out of her hands long enough to roll her eyes. "I would have told you if he had," she said firmly.

However, she couldn't help wondering who she was trying to convince—her parents or herself. Because, if it ever came down to a time when she had to lie to her parents in order to protect Jag, she was almost certain that she would.

"Jaina," Leia said softly. "You're the only person who's seen him since he left. We just want to know."

As her mother spoke, Jaina felt a wave of calm come over her; then, realizing that Leia was using the Force on her emotions, Jaina's irritation returned twofold.

"Fine," she snapped. "So he came to see me. Fine." Her façade broke—her shields down—and, as her voice shook, a few tears slipped out before she was able to clamp back down on her emotions. "So what if he still cares?" she asked softly. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Are you alright?" Leia asked, placing a hand on Jaina's shoulder.

She shrugged it off and nodded languidly, quickly brushing the tears aside before her parents could comment on it more. "I'm fine, Mom," she murmured into her hands. "I didn't sleep on the way here, and it's starting to catch up with me."

It was another partial truth. She had, in fact, not slept at all on the two-day hyperspace journey to Flareship, although not for lack of trying. Instead, she had drifted in and out of alertness the entire time, managing occasional naps of no more than a few minutes. She had gone through far worse before; those two days of missed sleep were nothing in comparison. As always, the real reason for her exhaustion traced, as all her problems somehow seemed to, back to her brother. It was watching Darth Caedus' rampage that brought the fits about; every time she saw evidence of what he had already managed to effect in only a few months—her parents being a prime example—tiredness, sleep deprivation, and nightmares inevitably followed.

Leia looked hurt for a moment, but dropped her hand back to her side without objection. "We can leave for now and let you take a nap before your formal debriefing," she offered.

Jaina just shrugged again, taking her hands away from her face to try to look more awake. "It's not worth it," she said. "I have a feeling that I'm not going to like whatever you want to say, so I'd rather finish this now than speculate about it while I'm trying to fall asleep."

She didn't mention her doubt that she would able to sleep at all, especially at the moment, but then realized the slip in her last few words. She had said "trying," rather than just "sleeping." Thankfully, nobody noticed, although it seemed that Leia was looking at her curiously. She was careful not to make eye contact, instead staring down at her palms.

"Have some brandy," her father said in a sarcastic imitation of cheer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pick up a bottle of brandy, and watched as the amber liquid flowed into her now cold mug of caf."If there's going to be any yelling," he continued, "I'd rather be properly drunk first."

She glared at him, contemplating a Force slap at the same time, but it just didn't seem worth the effort.

Han's expression softened slightly. "Jaina," he said. "We're doing this for your sake."

Jaina snorted. "For Sith's sake, I'm thirty-one, Dad. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Work with us, Jaina," her mother murmured gently. When Jaina had been younger, her mother's voice had been soothing balm, but now it was an irritant, and an obstacle that was preventing her from lying down. "Please," Leia added when Jaina opened her mouth to argue. "At least hear us out."

Jaina opened her mouth again, but forced it closed against her instincts. Even as she told herself that everything would be alright—that it couldn't possible hurt just to _listen_—the image of a widening crevasse—the type that could only be bridged by death and war—flashed through her mind.

"Alright," she muttered reluctantly, slouching back into her chair and closing her eyes.

Leia smiled, and opened her mouth to talk.

"But," Jaina demanded as her eyes flew open. "I want an answer to my question first. Why do you care?"

She caught her parents exchanging slightly guilty looks.

"Jaina," Leia said softly. "You have to understand that none of this is concrete. Some of it is speculation, and a lot is just suspicion. It could be something big, or it could just be a few words taken out of context."

"So basically, you don't like something he said and you're running to me to complain!" Jaina snapped.

"That's not it!" Han snapped back.

"Then what is it?" Jaina yelled, rising out of her chair. "Because I have the feeling that I'm going to be the one tossed into the Sarlacc's mouth, and I'd kriffing like to know why!"

"Jaina," Han commanded. "Sit."

To her surprise, she did. For that moment, it felt good to just relinquish her choices—and her life—into someone else's hands and let go of her own fate. All too soon, however, the fantasy passed. She'd already tried to cast off that fate too many times, and the more she tried to through it away, the better it had become at crawling back.

"We're telling you this," he continued with a sigh, "because we think that you should know. Because we'd rather have you walk into the Sarlacc's mouth with a lightsaber than get thrown in with a broken heart."

Her replay to that was sullen silence.

"Jaina," Leia said softly, looking down at her hands and avoiding eye contact. "When Jag was leaving, I heard him talking to himself. At the time, I assumed that he was just reminiscing about something, or walking through whatever hyperspace route he had planned, but the more I thought about it, the more I started to get a bad feeling about it all."

"But?" Jaina asked, seeing the uncertainty reflected in her mother's features.

Leia grimaced slightly. "But it was in Chiss." She held up a hand to forestall any objections. "I know that he tends to do that occasionally, especially if he's talking to himself. It's not the language that makes me suspicious."

Jaina closed her eyes. If her mother wanted to make a wide detour before coming to the point, then she could at least rest her eyes a bit.

"Like I said," Leia continued, "it was just a bad feeling, so I thought that I might as well try to get it translated, if only for some peace of mind. The problem is that, even if I had all the resources of Galactic Alliance Intelligence, I still would still only have a tentative knowledge of the Chiss language." She smiled ruefully. "All of their ambassadors have been able to spoke Basic, so we've never had the need to learn it."

"I thought we had a full Chiss dictionary from Thrawn," Jaina murmured hazily.

Her mother's voice—soft and tinged with the tones of Coruscant, seemed to be weaving in and out in volume.

"I thought that we did as well, but I've been hearing rumors that a lot of definitions are in a type of shorthand—Thrawn's advisors wouldn't have too much trouble with it, but it's not meant for us to understand."

"Just tell me what he said."

"Just know that the translation isn't perfect. We didn't have a recording—the cameras don't catch sound—so we had to try and translate it based on my repeating what he said, and my pronunciation could be completely wrong. Anyways, the only sensible phrases we got out of it all were 'fleet at the edges of the galaxy' and 'the last shield.'"

"I don't understand," Jaina said quietly. Since she was only paying half-attention and barely processing what her parents were saying, it was not a lie this time.

Han cut in. "Mandalore's right between here and Imps, and then it's just a little jump over to our blue friends."

It was exactly what she had not wanted to hear.

"No!" Jaina's eyes snapped open, looking between her parents. "I can't believe that you're even thinking—kriff! Jag isn't a Chiss spy, and he's not an Imperial one," she said with conviction.

"How sure are you of that?" Leia's eyes drilled into hers.

"I trust him," Jaina said firmly.

"With your life?" Leia asked.

"More than once already." There was little reason to say that most of those times were over ten years ago.

"With ours?"

Jaina had no answer for that. "I'm going to spar," she said abruptly, and left.

* * *

_GAG Headquarters, Coruscant_

The lack of lighting in the room would not have allowed the man crouched on the floor before him to see more than a few dim silhouettes or moving shadows; however, with the Force in his arsenal, Darth Caedus felt perfectly at home.

The figure on the floor, still sprawled in the same uncomfortable position that he had been when Caedus had first pulled him through the door, stared straight back at him, displaying more curiosity than nervousness. Most of his supporters, even when they knew they were being called in for congratulations, radiated discomfort and fear the moment that the door closed shut behind them; to them, the dark meant a lack of control—a lack of knowledge.

To others, it was a disadvantage. To the man before him, it seemed an opportunity.

"Colonel, we were unable to retrieve her—" Yub Stimson began.

Darth Caedus glared at him.

_I will not allow my daughter to grow up surrounded by a galaxy at war,_ he vowed to himself. _Allana will not have to kill to protect the galaxy. Not like I did. My daughter will finally know the peace that I never had._

He flicked one hand, and Yub Stimson's words abruptly cut off. Another flick, and the man lay sprawled on the floor. Even then, Caedus could still feel the man's head lift upwards, and Stimson's stare resumed, stoic no matter what his position.

Only then, realizing he could not sway the opinions of the man before him—not by force, at any rate—did Caedus allow his rage and bitterness to envelop him. If he could not convert the man, then he could at least punish him. A flash of dark purple and black lightning sprung out from his fingertips and shot towards Stimson, surrounding him in a crackling web of malevolent energy. The man writhed in pure agony, but he did not cry out.

_You are more like your brother than you realize,_ Caedus thought.

However, as much as he wished he could simply keep the man in pain as retribution for the danger to Allana's life, Caedus also knew that there was no one else better suited for the job—there were only a handful of people in the entire galaxy who had the potential to do what he needed done. He could also feel, while perusing through Stimson's thoughts, that the man knew it; he was not stupid, and he had only come into this encounter because had known that he would make it back out.

_Another similarity to your brother. It seems as if that is a family trait._

Even if Stimson did not know how he was being manipulated, he knew full well that he was, and that the amount of effort put into such a manipulation had to be enormous—the mission was important, and he knew it. Else, he could have run off like so many others, hoping to make a clean disappearance, rather than return to report his failure.

"Stand, Stimson, and give your report," Caedus snapped, before the man could even raise himself off the floor.

He watched through the Force as Yub Stimson slowly tucked his arms under his body, using them as a lever to push himself up onto his knees. Slowly, and swaying a little, he stood and brought himself to attention, snapping off a meticulous salute more sarcastic than respectful.

Caedus returned it sloppily—more of a wave of the hand than anything else—even though there was no way that Stimson could see. The man made him nervous. "At ease, soldier."

Stimson spread his legs slightly but kept his back straight and his hands firmly clasped behind.

_Even now, you still remind me of your brother when I first met him. If I did not know your brother to be elsewhere, I could have mistaken you to be he; the impressions are the same. But you will have a much different role to play in this war—much different._

"Sir, we followed her to Tatooine. While she was in the spaceport, we caught a meeting with Fett. They left separately, but exited on the same hyperspace vector, so we suspect that they left for the same location."

Caedus clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and then unclenched his fists before replying. While it would be more satisfying to let his anger take hold, it was no longer acceptable. No matter what, it had to appear as if he was deliberate and in control, even when and especially if he lost his temper. He could not lose face in front of his subordinates. If he wanted them to fear him, then they had to respect him first.

"Why did you not capture her?" He was pleased to hear his voice cut through the silence of the room—the only sounds being Stimson's heavy breathing—even as it was as cool as an Csillian winter.

Stimson did not even flinch. "We tried to follow them, sir, but Lraka—the idiot—put in the wrong coordinates, and we ended up at Kashyyyk. Per your orders, we did not put a tracing beacon on either ship, so we were unable to locate them."

_Idiot!_ Caedus raged. _He is willing to sacrifice this mission—sacrifice Allana!—simply because he dislikes Lraka. We all do what we must to win, and he will be no different._

He allowed another bolt of lightning to hit Stimson, but cut it off as soon as he felt a flare of pain from the man. It was a warning—for now.

"Lieutenant Lraka is a skilled and able soldier!" Caedus yelled. "You will not allow petty rivalries to endanger your mission objectives. Is that clear, commander?"

"Clear," Stimson managed between heavy gasps.

_I know perfectly well that Lraka is an incompetent fool,_ Caedus thought, _but he, unlike you, already fears me._

"Do not disappoint me again, Stimson, or I can promise you that your punishment will be far worse." Caedus kept his voice filled with cold, hard, anger. "You will continue on your mission to capture her. HER DEAD BODY, if necessary. You will search for here, you will find her, and you will bring her in!"

Caedus took a slight step back and waved his hand towards the door. "You are dismissed, commander," he said, as Yub Stimson flew out and the door slammed shut behind him.

_So, _he thought, _you will indeed be a formidable enemy. But then, knowing your brother and your family, I would expect absolutely no less of you. And when the time comes for the twin battle foreshadowed by the Vong, you will serve as a hostage, no matter how much you try to prevent it. After all, you may think that I believe you are Yub Stimson, but I know your true identity._


	4. Chapter 2: For the Fallen

**Chapter Two: For the Fallen**

_-What do you hope to find here, Commander?  
__-A reminder. This is why we've come, Shawnkyr. This is why the enemy must be stopped.  
__-_Shawnkyr Nuruodo and Jagged Fel above Ithor,_ Ruin_

_On the planet Krythanthium, Unknown Regions_

A tall, slim figure stood on the overhand of a rocky cliff, gazing down at its base. There, dark blue waters lapped a slim stretch of yellow sand. Although nightfall had come some hours ago—she'd already watched the sunset from that very position—the cliff basked in moonlight, so anyone for miles would be able to clearly see her.

Sometime while watching the sunset, she had decided that it would hardly matter. Her ship, the dark metal painted a sleek grey by the moon, was only a few steps away. She could be away and into Known Space before anyone could reach her.

And then, Ithor.

She tilted her face up to the sky while her eyes flickered uncertainly between the stars until they stopped at a distant twinkle just barely visible. Kalata—star to the system containing the Jedi shelter Flareship—was an ancient part of her people's legends.

"_Kalata is the palm of the Goddess, where her hands warp around the hilt of her sword. When Kalata fades, the Goddess has drawn her sword from its sheath and taken it to battle. Should she return victorious, the sword shall once again be returned to its traditional position, and the light of Kalata restored. If the Goddess loses, however, then the star too shall disappear upon her loss, the sword broken for eternity."_

Although she doubted that any of the Jedi knew the legend, it seemed oddly appropriate.

Her face set in a gentle mask of tired contemplation, she replayed the words in her mind while considering her next move. She knew what she had to do—the one comlink call to Shawnkyr she had to make to set into motion the rise of her people—but that certainty allowed her mind no rest; this was a call that could easily reopen deep wounds that had lain buried for years.

_And rightly so,_ she thought. _Hiding from these wounds has allowed all of us our few moments of peace in recent years, but nothing can remain buried forever. I may be a catalyst of war, but I am not a cause. That I know._

The mild thunder of a particularly tall wave hitting the rocks brought her gaze back to the sand below, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. Vivid memories jumped to mind of the many clandestine meetings she had arranged here, away from the comments and criticisms of the Fel family.

_She'd been staring out at the foaming waters—waters usually placid or, at most, filled with gentle ripples of foam as a few small waves broke themselves against the shore. Never, in her many visits here, had she seem the waters so disturbed; the waves crashed onto the rocks, ripping off anything that lived there and throwing it to the mercy of the sea._

_Over the months, she had discovered the ability of her mind to parallel the waters—or, in most cases, to be soothed by them. But today, seeing the turbulent ocean only added to the turmoil of her mind. _This could well be my last visit here, _she thought, as she had many times before. For the most part, the waters allowed her a degree of acceptance towards the dangers of her profession; at the moment, she could only see herself as one of the creatures fighting desperately to cling to the rocks._

_She let out a tired sigh, and jerked as a strong pair of arms wrapped around her. "So you weren't thinking about me after all," an amused voice said._

_She spun around in his grasp, her mouth lifting up in a relieved smile as she saw him. "Now what would make you think that?" she asked, keeping her voice low out of habit even though there was nobody close enough to hear them._

"_I've been trying to surprise you for a long time, but I've never succeeded before. What's bothering you?"_

_She sighed again, relishing the feel of his arms around her. "I'll tell you later," she promised. "I'd rather just enjoy this right now." It was selfish, she knew, but she didn't want to ruin their short time together._

_Yet, she couldn't help but notice that the waters grew ever more turbulent. _

_All too soon, they had to part. She leaned against his chest, his arms still wrapped securely around her waist. "I have to tell you something," he murmured softly into her ear._

_She nodded, snuggling back further against his chest and swiveling her head around so that she could look into his eyes. Was that the slightest hint of guilt there?_

"_Aula," he said, gently caressing the syllables as he spoke. "I'm on leave right now because I have a mission coming up—something even further into the Unknown Regions. It could be months, years even, before I can come back…"_

"_What is it?" she interrupted._

_Davin would not look at her. "I can't tell you."_

"_You know that my security clearance is higher than yours," she said, a spike of annoyance shooting through her. _

"_I know," he said, cutting her off before her irritation could build. "This is under the highest security. Apart from the other people on the mission, only one or two know."_

"_Your family?" she whispered, barely louder than her own breath._

"_I shouldn't even be telling you this right now."_

"_Davin," she said severely._

"_Aula, please." His voice was desperate. "Please…just don't."_

_She nodded reluctantly. "What else then?"_

_His innocent look would have been believable, if his eyes had been a just a touch less miserable. "Else?" he repeated._

"_I'm not completely inept," she murmured. "We've both been on missions before. Some that could have been longer. What's different about this one?"_

"_I—I can't." He still wouldn't look at her._

"_For me then," she whispered. _

"_Alright." His eyes locked on to hers. "The difference is that, this time, I have the feeling that I might not be coming back at all."_

"_Davin!" To her own ears, she sounded both incredulous at what he was suggesting, and furious that he could even think it at all._

_His arms moved from her waist to her shoulder, turning her around so that she was fully facing him. "Aula, please," he murmured._

_She sobbed into his chest. "What do you want me to say, Davin?"_

_He sighed, and placed a hand under her chin, tilting her head up so that she gazed into his eyes, their faces just inches apart. "Say yes." he whispered._

"_Yes?" she repeated dumbly, her mind still fixated on his former sentence. Could this really be his last mission? "Yes to what?"_

"_I wanted to ask you if you would marry me," he said softly, reaching his hand into his pocket to pull out a small box. _

"_Davin," she started apologetically._

_He held a finger against her lips, using the other hand to open the box. The ring was comprised of two slim bands of silver, set in parallel with an ice-blue Adegan crystal that held the them together. He removed the ring from the box but, instead of sliding it onto her finger, pressed it into her palm and closed her fingers around it._

"_I know that it's too soon," he whispered. _

_She nodded silently, tears leaking out of her eyes._

"_Promise me you'll think about it," he said, bringing her hand—the one still clasping the ring—up to his lips. Then, he turned away without waiting for her answer and strode up the incline towards his ship, never looking back._

"_I will," she whispered to his retreating back, even as she knew that he was too far away to hear it._

_Seven days later, she had received the notice of his death._

A long time ago, this planet and these waters had been witness to the happiest moments of her life. Now, the memories—memories she had resurrected by forcing herself to return—were only bittersweet in her mind.

She clambered back into her ship, taking a last glance at the ocean behind her before closing the top.

[Do you have your reminder?] her astromech droid whistled.

_Only the first of many,_ she thought. _Only the first._

* * *

_Soontir Fel's office, Csilla_

"I have the message, Syndic."

"An invitation into Galactic Alliance space from a former queen herself," Soontir Fel stated thoughtfully. "Do you know why, Colonel?"

Shawnkyr's red eyes gazed back at him, unblinking. "I believe that certain parties within the Chiss government have been manipulating events for their own benefit," she stated calmly.

"And you believe that manipulation has extended into the Caridan fleet?" Soontir questioned sharply.

Shawnkyr's lips thinned. "We have always existed peacefully with their fleet, but their people have always been remarkable self-contained. To my knowledge, none of them have chosen to come here, despite our invitations."

"None but the queen herself."

"None but the queen herself," Shawnkyr repeated, adding a slight bow of acknowledgement.

Soontir paused for an instant. "Colonel, here are your orders," he commanded. "You will take the _Mitth'raw'nuruodo _into Known Space and remain there until called upon."

Shawnkyr blinked at him. "With all respect, sir, I do not believe that we can avoid a confrontation."

Soontir regarded her for a moment. "Colonel—now General, given this mission—I assure you that all your pilots and staff will be off the highest caliber."

Shawnkyr absorbed the promotion with a tilt of the head. "I do not underestimate the abilities of my pilots, sir, but I also do not underestimate the abilities of Han Solo to stumble into places where he should not be."

Soontir raised a calm eyebrow at her. "Do you not believe that you are capable for this mission?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" she asked.

The eyebrow went up further in assent.

"I believe, sir, that our position has already been betrayed, and that we are walking into a trap. I also believe that the queen is not to be trusted."

Soontir's lips twitched into a wry smile. "Although, since the Caridans are still our allies, I should give you a reprimand, you are correct."

"On which count, sir?"

"Both, actually. I believe that it would interest you to know that the Caridan fleet is being mobilized. According to our long-range drones, most of their fleet has already departed, although they have taken a lot of care to prevent us from noticing. I assume that you know what that means."

It was a test.

"It means, sir, that we have lost any influence over the Caridans. We have coexisted peacefully because the threat of our own military has prevented them from any severe action. Now that they are gone, we have no methods to control their choices."

"Precisely, General, and that is why your position will be key. It will tell us how much we may trust the Caridans, and, more importantly, their queen."

Standing up from his desk, the Assistant Syndic walker over to her with a datapad in hand. "This datapad contains the roster for the mission," he said loudly to cover the resulting click when his hand turned on a recording in his pocket.

She heard her own voice speaking. "How many squadrons…"

"I assume you understand this mission has very little to do with Caridan-Chiss relations," he whispered, pausing to hand her the datapad.

She instantly understood. In their current position, all the cameras would be able to see of them were their backs; with the recording playing, trying to figure out their conversation would be next to impossible.

"What will the classification level of this be?" she whispered.

Soontir nodded, his tone impressed. "It will be best if you can keep this from the knowledge of Chaf'orm'bintrano, but it is not vital. I assume that I do not need to tell you about the wisdom of discretion at the moment."

"The battlegrounds for a Chiss civil war have never been on our own territory," Shawnkyr said with sudden understanding.

"And now that Queen Syani has provided us with a convenient method, I prefer to have several skifters in place before this fight moves beyond the political." He stepped backwards and returned to his desk, his fingers turning off the recording as he moved.

Shawnkyr caught the hint and turned to leave.

"Why are you doing this, Shawnkyr?" The Assistant Syndic sounded tired—something distinctly human.

"Excuse me, sir?" she asked, caught off guard by the question.

He was studying her intently. "Why are you doing this?" he repeated calmly.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

He blinked, and the odd expression on his face disappeared. "Never mind, General. You are dismissed."

She quickly left before anything else unexpected could happen.

Behind her, Assistant Syndic Baron Fel dropped his face into his hands.

Thirteen years ago, he had thought that sending his third child to serve, and most likely to die, would be one of the hardest events of his life. (1)

Thirteen years ago, he had never anticipated that he would be the one pulling the trigger.

* * *

_Flareship_

As she took a step back, Jaina caught the brunt of Zekk's thrust on the very tip of her lightsaber, using the momentum to pivot herself around on her left foot and sweep her lightsaber upwards in a diagonal slash. He parried it aside, grunting as he brought his lightsaber back up to lock the two blades between them.

Jaina, taking advantage of what was left of her momentum, flipped over him and whirled around, feinting a slash to his shoulder before ducking low to avoid a kick to the neck. Taking advantage of Zekk's brief moment of unbalance, she slashed her lightsaber upwards, stopping just an inch shy of his stomach.

"Point," she said, deactivating her lightsaber.

Zekk grinned at her. "My _point_ exactly." Ignoring her groan, he continued on. "You're already beaten me twenty times out of twenty."

As a feral grin crossed her face, Zekk didn't even try to hide his own wince.

"Another spar then?" she asked.

He shook his head immediately. "We've already been sparring the entire morning. Go take a break." At her glare, he hastily added, "I need to eat. If you still want to spar after lunch, then come find me." He hooked his lightsaber onto his belt and stepped off the practice mat, grabbing a towel off the floor nearby and draping it over his shoulders.

She scowled at him.

He shrugged his shoulders in a mockery of innocence. "If you want to spar that much, go find Fel."

His head jerked forward—the towel teetering on the edge of falling off—as a resounding slap echoed across the room. "Cut it out, Zekk," she snapped. "You know as well as I do that I have no idea where Jag is!"

"So go find Kyp instead," he muttered, too tired to respond in kind.

"You know what?" she said. "Never mind. I'll go find someone that doesn't treat me like an inept Bantha. Maybe then, something will happen and I'll defeat Jacen before we all turn into Yodas."

He let out a quiet sigh as she walked out the door.

_Let's hope that you do, Jaina. Let's hope that you do. Let's hope that, by the time you come face to face with Darth Caedus again, you'll finally understand why you two have to meet._

_It's one thing to hope that you can redeem him—and no matter what we say to you, it's what all of us are hoping for—but it's another to depend on that thought to get you through your final battle. Swords must be tempered before they are wielded, but a sword not yet out of the forge is liable to be bent._

_My biggest fear isn't that you'll lose—because you're a survivor, I know that you'll win. My biggest fear is that you'll turn to the dark side to save your brother—that you'll start seeing yourself as the sacrifice to save the galaxy, but you'll only lose yourself in the and._

_This time, though, I don't know if there's anybody left to straighten you out unless you can do it yourself. _

_Jag? He can deal with a lot of your barriers, but he's already been through this once. Even if he doesn't talk about it, I don't think he has it in him to pull you back again—not if you make that choice knowing the full consequences. You can call each other friends—call each other comrades—but all you've really done is bandage up the buried and festering wounds so that you can keep fighting. _

_I've been there, Jaina. I can still remember the day you saved me on the grounds of the Jedi Temple—the day you put your faith not in my ability to fight, but in my ability to do the right thing. The fact is, you and Jag don't have that type of trust anymore, and if you aren't willing to recognize that for yourself, then you never will. The first step on the road of redemption is always the choice to come back, and your Solo stubbornness isn't going to help you on that trek._

_Kyp? Kyp isn't in love with you—not anymore, at least. Do you honestly think that he's going to be as willing to accept and forgive as Jag is? I don't know the answer and, frankly, I wish that was a question I didn't have to ask. There was a time—when you were all on Borleias, fighting the Vong—when I was jealous of the three of you, because you had that absolute faith in each other._

_And what now? What happened to that? Even at the end of the Vong war, I can remember both of them being willing to do anything for you. I want to believe that they still are, even if they won't acknowledge the fact; except that, now, they won't be doing it for you. They'll be doing it because it's right._

_Why will you be fighting Darth Caedus, Jaina? Why?_

_Don't try to convince me it was the Killik war that took away Jacen. Don't try to convince me it was the Killik war that broke your relationships with Kyp and Jag. The war may have burned through those last threads, but your relationships were unraveling long before that. You can keep bringing everyone close and then pushing them away, but eventually you'll realize that there's no one else who's sticking around to be pushed._

_Is that what you want Jaina? Are you going to sacrifice yourself not to the dark side, but to misery and malcontent? Are you so determined to fulfill that prophecy that you're going to give up on yourself? I don't know the answer, but I can only hope that you do._

_And me? Just look at what happened the last time you went to the dark side: I ran away. I wanted to help, but I was scared. You've always had a big influence on me, and I was scared of being dragged down that path, so I left. None of us are as unselfish as we'd like to believe._

_And, if you ever turn to the dark side again, I can't say that I won't make the same choice._

_May the Force be with you, Jaina Solo._

_Because, if you ever make that choice again, I don't know if I will be._

_After all, it's for Jacen. It's what he would want. It's for the fallen._

(1) From _Dark Journey _by Elaine Cunningham


	5. Chapter 3: Forged Truths

**Chapter Three: Forged Truths**

"_Everything I tell you is a lie."  
_-Vergere to Jacen Solo, _Traitor_

_Unknown system, near Mandalore_

As he straightened up and stretched his joints into place, the blackness of opaque-over transparisteel was all that remained to greet Jagged Fel's reawakening. As was typical for hyperspace jumps, he had shut down all the lights and screens before his nap, telling R3-D4 to turn then back on upon reentry to realspace.

A quick glance at his chrono told him that just two hours had passed since he had entered the hyperspace jump, and he reached down to grab a ration bar from a compartment. His hand rummaged around the chaos of tools until his fingers finally brushed by a flimsy surface. Jag grabbed the ration bar and settled back into his chair to wait the hour until he emerged from this, his second-to-last hyperspace jump on the way back to Flareship.

Just as he began to peel the wrapping off the ration bar, the Stealth-X shuddered. With a groan of metal, the blue lines of light blurred into the white of real stars outside his window.

The sudden movement made him let go of the ration bar so that, as he jerked forward, it flew backwards to hit him on the head.

"Shavit!" he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

[The ship has been pulled out of hyperspace,] he read off the ship's screen as his droid let off a series of squeaks and whistles.

"I know that, R3," Jag muttered as he fought to pull his flight gloves back on.

[Statistical analysis of your mind based on 3 months of data indicates only a 98% chance that you would recognize that fact. Statistical analysis of gravitation fluctuations indicates a 99.78% chance that an interdictor field is responsible for the exit from hyperspace.]

His eyebrows flying up, Jag glanced at his sensor readings, and then promptly took another look. The screen stubbornly refused to change. Apart from his own Stealth-X at the very center, the readings remained obstinately blank; as he flipped through the various sensor settings, nothing larger than a few chunks of space debris appeared—certainly nothing big enough to generate an interdictor field by itself.

He heard a sharp thud, and the ship jerked again. Hurriedly, Jag grabbed the controls and rolled the fighter over towards the right in order to avoid a sputtering stream of green laser fire.

The movement sent him rolling into another of a myriad of shots in what appeared to be a random spray. As it hit, the fighter flew out of his control for a moment, clumsily lunging into the path on another shot. Cockpit alarms began to flash and screech.

[Shields down to 80%.]

"Plot a hyperspace jump out of here!" Jinking and juking while he relied on pure instinct to keep himself out of harm's way, Jag felt a sheen of perspiration on his forehead and he dodged the shots thundering down towards him.

[Destination?]

Another shot connected, and he found himself pulling the joystick hard to the right in order to the compensate for the faltering engine.

"Anywhere!"

[Shields down to 60%.] The droid fell silent for a moment. [Jump entered.]

Jag glanced down at the escape vector displayed on the screen and swore.

"A vector that takes us _away_ from whatever's firing at us would be preferable!"

[Statistical analysis reveals a 74.6% chance that any other jump will fail due to the interdiction field.]

"Alright," he muttered, pulling the Stealth-X in as tight of a circle as he could manage, even though the blood rushing away from his head sent black protruding into the edges of his vision. "Can you pinpoint the source of the lasers?"

[Analysis of shot patterns suggests that the source is in motion. Best possible estimates are displayed on the sensor readings.]

He glanced downwards.

"What?" he yelled in frustration. "That thing has to be more than a few kilometers in front of us! Recalculate it!"

Jag looked up just in time to catch the scattered green shots morph into steady beams of red, the pouring rain changing to raging thunder and lightning. The red of the shots cast an angry tint onto the transparisteel, making it look as if several giant, red, lightsabers had be activated in the voids of space.

Unprepared, he crashed straight into one of them. With a roar of twisting metal, the inertial compensator gave out, sending his head crashing into the canopy of the Stealth-X.

"Sithspit!" he snapped, moving one hand to slap at the button for the alarms. A moment later, they fell silent.

[Shields at 35%.]

"How is that possible? I only hit one beam!" he yelled.

[Analysis of light fluctuations indicates that the laser strengths are 100 times that of a Stealth-X.]

Now, looking at the wild display of energy and power in front of him, Jag could start to make out the patterns in the lights. As random as they looked, the beams moved in meandering circles, slowly herding him towards the center—the eye of the storm.

Then, the crackling cut off, to be replaced by a more gentle whirr of stretching metal; the turbolasers stopped, along with his ship: a tractor beam.

The sharp deceleration sent Jag's head went careening towards the transparisteel while his elbow ricocheted off the control panel. Meanwhile, the sensor screen, as always, remained frustratingly empty. Turning his engines down, Jag gently nudged the ship in various directions, testing for a weakness in the tractor beam lock. None appeared.

[Continued use of engines while in a tractor beam could lead to hyperdrive failure.]

"Since it's the Chiss, my hyperdrive won't matter anymore if I get captured," he murmured.

[Statistical analysis of Holonet sightings indicate that the chances of there being a Chiss ship in Galactic Alliance space is approximately…]

"Don't tell me the odds," Jag muttered as he continued to rotate the ship. "The Chiss are the only ones who could have the technology to run a cloaking device and a tractor beam at once without blowing up their own circuits in the process."

However, the tractor beam did not pull him in as he had expected, but merely left him useless and hanging in the dead of space, right where the eye of the storm had been before the storm itself dissipated. Through the viewport, he could see a horizon of stars, many of which had never been tame enough for inhabited planets, stretching out in all directions. Following his forward, several stars shimmered, sputtering out of existence for a moment as the cloaking device faltered.

At the same time, the tractor lock abruptly cut off, sending him careening off backwards. His head slammed against the seat, and his vision blurred.

Fumbling through a haze of mind and sight, Jag stretched his hand out to where the hyperspace lever would have been in a clawcraft. When it did not appear, he began poking along the control panel, waving his hands around to poke into random corners.

A trio of lasers slammed into the back of the ship.

[Shields are down!] R3-D4 squeaked, but he barely noticed it.

_Need to…get…hyperspace…_

Pulling and pushing at random buttons in a frenzy, his hand finally caught the hyperspace lever above his head.

A green shot slammed into his starboard engine just as his clawcraft disappeared from view.

* * *

_Luke Skywalker's office, Flareship_

_On a grassy meadow rife with the light of fading stars, a lightsaber's thrum quieted amongst an oppressing silence. A head plopped onto the ground and rolled away, sending a series of tremors rippling through the grass while a lifeless corpse gently swayed to the ground. As it fell, the body disappeared, leaving only a blood-stained patch of soil behind. At the same time, just a few feet away, a slowly fading set of lifeless eyes watched through a veil of dewdrops as the grass shriveled where the blood had landed._

"Master Skywalker?"

Luke glanced up from the datapad he regarded. The young Rodian continued to look at him with an unreadable expression just barely tinged with a trace of distain.

"What?" he demanded, and then winced.

"…_when I am gone, it will be yours…"_

_That voice had said something else as well—something of importance—but he just couldn't remember what it was._

Despite Luke's attempt to maintain a blank face, he caught a brief flash of amusement from the padawan at his loss of composure.

"Yes, Tiraku?" he asked, keeping his voice mild.

_What was wrong with the head? Something—even with the features blurred, the head just hadn't looked quite…human. The body too—something in the proportions registered as wrong…alien._

"We've finished," Tiraku said, inclining his head towards the classroom next door. "Master Durron told us to find you once we were done."

Luke glanced at his chrono, but the vision had passed more quickly than he thought—it had only been twenty minutes since Kyp had stopped by his office, asking him to keep an eye on the group of padawans.

_Why had Kyp had to leave, anyways?_

"Quickly done," Luke observed, keeping the statement ambiguous.

_Had Kyp even told him what the padawans were doing?_

Tiraku paused for a moment. "I suppose?" he said, his horns moving closer for a moment as his brow wrinkled.

As he spoke, however, Luke felt a furious tendril of conversation pulse between Tiraku and the remainder of the group. In many ways, it held an eerie resembled to a bond that had developed between another group of young Jedi some twenty years earlier—a bond that had ultimately ended in tragedy for all its members. Except that, this time, the bond had already had a chance to grow in relative peace before Darth Caedus emerged, and Luke couldn't help but wonder whether it could have been different.

In any case, Tiraku stood in front of his desk with an expectant expression, completely unaware of the direction of Luke's thoughts.

"I'll take a look then," he said, standing up from his desk.

Tiraku did not wait for him, but nodded and walked ahead, slipping through the doorways without leaving any doors swinging to indicate his passage.

_Why had the drops of blood on grass morphed into diamonds, and why had there been so many of them? Unless—unless it could have just been a reflection of light on dewdrops, but the red…that shade could represent nothing innocent._

As Luke entered the classroom, he first saw the barren walls. If it had just been a room for this group alone, he could have expected the emptiness, as placing furniture in the middle of a lightsaber practice was a sure wish of destruction. However, space constraints and shifting schedules had forced the groups of padawans to rotate between several such rooms depending on which was available at a given time, and rooms for the younger ones usually had desks and stable equipment.

Apart from the huddle of padawans towards the back, he saw nothing. Streaks of grey shot across the walls—a sign of a hasty paint job—but came to a stop just a few feet away from the corner. Then, rounding the corner, they began a few more feet along.

_Had there been a blur from far away as well, as if somebody was watching?_

He paused before the group, purposely radiating a sense of calm and peace to hide the raging waters in his mind. Between the jumble of his thoughts and his inability to recall his Force visions, he could barely keep himself on the task at hand. As the moment, Luke could only be thankful that the rancor lurking in the depths of his mind had not yet gone on a mass rampage.

"So…" he began, and then paused as he caught a tendril of conversation from the group.

"_We keep silent…"_

The words sent a shiver up his spine. Allowing his instincts to take over even though he had absolutely no proof of his claim, Luke continued. "Can any of you tell me what you did wrong?" he asked, and a wave of nervousness and worry slammed into his mind.

_What exactly happened while Kyp was gone?_

"Master Skywalker?" one young female—Kaethe Ti—said hesitantly. "Master Durron simply asked us to find you when we were ready. I mean—when we were finished," she said, blushing at the slip.

"And it seems as if we did fine," another interjected immediately.

Several of the padawans giggled, and Luke suppressed a rueful grin. "Why do you think that you succeeded?" he asked, still having no idea of what their task consisted of.

"Master Durron said that you would come in and stop us if you felt what we were doing," Tiraku said.

Luke looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then gave up. "Alright," he said. "Tell me what you were supposed to do."

He jumped as a crash echoed through the room, and looked towards the corner where an avalanche of desks and chairs had just appeared out of nowhere—the same corner, in fact, where the paint streaks had stopped.

"We were working on a concealment exercise," Kaethe said, starting to walk.

"And Master Durron said that you would clean them all up if you didn't sense what we were doing," Tiraku shot back out as the group dashed out the door.

Finally, Luke remembered what Kyp had told him.

"_Pretend you don't know what's going on."_

It seemed as recent years had forced him to become far too good at doing exactly that.

_

* * *

_

_Zonoma Sekot_

"Varra," she heard a voice call. "You wanted to talk to me?"

Varra turned around to face Danni and clucked softly. "There is no need for so much noise, Danni. You are heard," she said once the woman came into hearing.

Varra saw her stiff nod, and waited for Danni to settle down besides her. While Danni adjusted herself, Varra took the change to survey the landscape, noting with little care the rising of two suns and their effect on the shadows.

"Of course," Danni murmured softly. "My apologies. I'm afraid that my hearing is still recovering, and I'm not as aware of my voice as I usually am."

"You're better?" Varra asked, glancing at the shadows under Danni's eyes as well as at her short-cropped hair. _I am glad to see that the virus I gave you the last time we met worked as it should have done._

"Thankfully, yes," Danni said with a weak laugh. "At this rate, it seems as if I'll never be immune to all the viruses here. From the tests I've been running, it seems like another new one."

"This is a living planet, after all," Varra remarked with little enthusiasm. "Change happens quickly here."

Danni shot her a sharp glance, and then looked away. She plucked a blade of yellowing grass, gazing at it and twirling it between her fingers as she spoke.

"Growth…yes," she admitted, "but not so much change."

"Which is why I wanted to speak to you," Varra stated calmly, then clucked again at Danni's wrinkled brow. "Although I did not intend to force you on the environment in that manner."

Danni smiled, ruefully. "You usually prefer to remain alone. When you asked to talk to me, I assumed that it was an urgent matter."

"Urgent, yes," Varra said with an indulgent smile. "But not an emergency. If it had been, I would have visited you myself instead of calling you here."

Danni nodded, using her fingernail to neatly slice the blade in two before neatly laying the halves on the ground.

"Then what change is happening?" she asked in an even tone

"I am happening," Varra declared nonchalantly. "It is my time to change."

Danni raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't have the time for word games today." She scowled, unearthing another blade.

"The Force?" Varra enquired, hiding a smile.

"The Force…or something related to that." Danni glanced at the golden stem she held between her fingers and then held it up and let go. She watched for a long moment as the wind carried the blade into the blue and purple shadows of the trees. "I don't even know why I'm feeling it," she continued, "but I can sense that something is shifting. It's happening now, and it's related to me."

"A change?" Varra asked with false innocence.

"All right," Danni said with a grin. "You win. I'll sit here and listen to you talk riddles while the world evolves around us. Now tell me what's going on."

"Not riddles, Danni," Varra admonished. "I speak only truths."

"From your point of view," Danni bit out, but Varra caught her immediate wince.

"From my point of view. In any case, I can tell you your answer now: I am planning to leave Sekot soon."

"To where?" Danni's voice was both sharp and accusing.

"Do not worry about me," Varra murmured gently. "I will not betray Sekot to the outside galaxy."

_But, I am afraid, I will have to betray you. It is the only path._

"Then why have you called me here?" Danni looked no happier

"You may know that I have been trying to persuade Sekot to return to the rest of the galaxy." Varra held up a feathered hand to stop Danni from speaking. "But," she continued, "you do not know why."

"It doesn't matter," Danni said sharply. "Returning to the rest of the galaxy would leave the Yuuzhan Vong in the hands of the people whose homes they once ravaged!"

Varra regarded her with a even gaze and waited until she quieted. "Is that any different from what we are doing now?" she queried. "There are factions looking for us, hoping to destroy this entire planet. Do you really believe that it will be any better the longer we hide?"

"Most demons fade with time," Danni whispered. "You should know that."

"And I do," Varra said, her feathers twitching slightly. "But in this case, it is no longer a question of whether the Yuuzhan Vong can survive within the Known Regions. It is a question of whether the Known Regions can survive without the Yuuzhan Vong."

"What do you mean?"

Varra glanced at her. "I assume that you don't have much knowledge of what's happening in the Galactic Alliance?"

"Very little," Danni admitted. "I chose not to keep in touch."

"Then I assume that it may interest you to know that Jacen Solo, for all purposes, has now taken over the Galactic Alliance."

"Jacen?" Danni gasped. "How?"

"I believe that he is no longer referred to as Jacen Solo. Most call him Darth Caedus." Varra waited for a reaction. "You seem less upset that I expected," she commented.

Danni shrugged. "For one, I'll probably feel more sad once I see it for myself. Being here for so long tends to make me…isolated. It's hard to feel the same way about things while I'm here. And secondly, I still don't know that you're telling me the truth."

"Have I ever lied to you?" Varra asked, half-amused.

"Have you ever told me the truth?" Danni shot back.

_I may not lie to you, but everything I tell you is a lie._

"True enough," Varra admitted. "Whether you believe my reasons or not, I am asking you for your help."

"You're asking me to sacrifice the Vong for the rest of the galaxy!"

_Trust me in that I understand the real meaning of sacrifice._

_Fourteen years ago, I swept my lightsaber across my sister's neck and watched her blood stain these fields._

"_Sister, I leave the legacy to you. When I am gone, it will be yours to continue," she told me._

_Continue that legacy I did. That day, I recommenced the Rule of Two when I the apprentice killed my master, and Darth Voldeur emerged from the stain on the field. It was not Vergere who waited at Myrkr to plant the seeds of the Sith into Jacen Solo's mind, but I, and that is how I know what is happening. Few Vong, and fewer humans, could ever tell the difference between my sister and I._

"Where will you go?" Danni was asking again, but without the same anger in her voice—only resigned bitterness remained.

"I cannot be sure yet," Varra said softly.

_Too true. I know who I will go to—it is time to bring the Chiss into this war—but I do not know where my first destination on that path is._

"I'll ask for you," Danni declared after a long pause. "But I won't argue for you. Not until I know the truth for myself. Not until I understand."


	6. Chapter 4: Cruel Happenstance

**Chapter Four: Cruel Happenstance**

"…_whose capacity for appearing where he could not possibly be was unparalleled…"_ –_Justice Hall_ by Laurie R. King

_On the Chiss ship Mitth'raw'nuruodo_

Sitting at her desk, Shawnkyr Nuruodo scrolled through lists of reports on her datapad, her shoulders pulled back and posture straight. Her eyebrows and eyes retained a blank expression, and the only movement was that of her pupils as she skimmed the titles.

Lists of repair operations, standard field tests, and various drill results flickered past her eyes with little attention paid until one, slightly irregular, title caught her notice.

"Interruption of standard interdictor fields test," she murmured, pulling up the report.

After reading through the first few lines, she instead set down her datapad and leaned over her desk for a moment to turn on the holoprojector. Then, returning to her datapad, she cued up recordings of the test.

A single Stealth-X, washed over in blue by the holoprojection, materialized into empty space. As she watched, the first of the lasers from the _Mitth'raw'nuruodo_ hit the ship before it jerked into the path of another. Then the pilot must have regained control of the ship, since its motions smoothed out and it managed to avoid the majority of the fire.

When, however, the turbolasers replaced the standard lasers, one hit the Stealth-X, sending it careening off just past another. As the pilot wrested control back yet again, the ship, strangely enough, dodged towards the _Mitth'raw'nuruodo_, wings gliding between steams of deadly red fire only to be caught in the snare of the tractor beam.

A few moments later, the cutting off of the tractor beam immediately manifested itself as the ship rocketed off in a direction. Following two turbolaser shots to its engines that left one flaming, the Stealth-X disappeared back into the veil of hyperspace.

Absently, Shawnkyr began to replay the recording after focusing in on the Stealth-X. Without thinking about it, she found herself leaning forward into the projection, her shoulders bunched together and her hands gripping the edge of the desk as her mind worked frantically to unravel the haunting familiarity behind the piloting style.

It was at once both wild and instinctive, controlled and carefree, and almost as perfect as piloting could become under the circumstances. If it had been just a touch more reined-in, it might have been her own. Then, she saw the pilot's attempt at an extreme turn—something more suited to a clawcraft than a Stealth-X—she understood the source of the familiarity.

"Tharru," she said, pressing the com button on her desk.

"Yes, Captain?" her secretary answered without hesitation.

"Call Lieutenant Kres'ko'nuruodo to my office," she commanded. "Immediately."

Shawnkyr heard a single click in response, and then the static hiss of the com stopped. She reached forward again to turn off the microphone on her end. However, as her fingers hovered over the holoprojector switch, she did not press it, but paused the projection and left it on. Then, she stood up behind her desk and waited.

Lieutenant Kres'ko'nuruodo marched into the office and snapped a crisp salute as the door closed behind him. "General," he said.

She returned the salute, feeling a twinge of wariness at the scarcity of red piping on his uniform—something that could also represent a scarcity of alliance to the Nuruodo family in general.

"At ease, Lieutenant."

His hands flew down to clasp behind his back and his feet spread apart slightly, but Skon did not move further into the room. As he looked at her, his eyes snapped to the holoprojection in front, and his eyes widened slightly.

"I see that you know what this holoprojection is showing," Shawnkyr snapped. "Why was I not told of this earlier, Lieutenant?"

Skon's eyes flitted between the holoprojection and a point above her head. "We performed a test of the interdictor field, sir. When the object appeared on our scans, we commenced firing under the assumption that it was a meteorite. Once the contrary was determined, we let the ship go."

Her red eyes surveyed him without blinking. "That was not what I asked, Lieutenant. This event occurred several hours ago. I asked you why I did not hear about it as it happened, and why the report came to me just now."

He blanched slightly. "The power generators began to overload, sir, and we only had the ship in tractor lock for a few seconds before we were forced to let it go to avoid compromising the cloaking."

"Idiocy is neither a preferred nor accepted trait of Chiss officers," Shawnkyr growled. "Even with the cloaking device restrictions, there is no reason that your scans would not have been able to determine the difference between a ship and a meteorite."

"Sir," Skon began, "permission to speak freely?"

Shawnkyr glared at him.

"With all due respect, Captain, I followed standard procedure."

"Standard procedure for events occurring outside a ship applies only while in Chiss territory," Shawnkyr snapped. "Also, Chiss policy never to strike first supersedes any other procedure."

"It was a lone ship, sir," Skon blustered. "It will be of little importance."

"You did not run the standard flight identification specifics against our database," Shawnkyr stated.

"We are in the Galactic Alliance, sir. I deemed it to be of little—"

Shawnkyr cut him off. "It is very important, Lieutenant. No matter who the pilot was, it could be considered a preemptive strike if he understands who fired at him."

"I will attempt to locate him immediately, sir," Skon said, raising his hand to start a salute.

"No!" Shawnkyr shouted, stopping him in his tracks. "You are not dismissed, Lieutenant, and you will not need to track down the pilot." Shawnkyr paused for a moment, staring down the pilot as suspicions about his loyalties swirled around in her mind. "I was assured by Syndic Fel that this ship would have nothing but the best officers and pilots. Since that is clearly not the case, I will take it upon myself to weed out those who could compromise this mission."

"Sir?" Kres'ko'nuruodo asked.

"You will take a clawcraft and report back to Syndic Fel," she ordered.

When no report followed, Skon ventured another question. "What is the message, sir?"

Shawnkyr almost smiled. "Tell him that we have found his son."

Skon bowed and snapped a salute.

Shawnkyr returned it. "Dismissed, soldier."

"I will make sure that Thag'raff'nuruodo obtains a copy of the news," Tharru whispered to him as he walked out the door.

* * *

_Chiss space, above Akaith_

As she relaxed in the smooth contours of hyperspace, a sudden sense of danger—of urgency—jolted Varra upright.

With a light cluck and a grimace, she allowed her instincts reign, and told the coralskipper to emerge from hyperspace. After the blue lines faded away, she returned to a horizon of real, sparkling stars set in the pure blackness of space. Meanwhile, a grey moon framed with a ring of dust hung just outside her starboard window.

Nothing else, however, materialized to show the sense of danger she had gotten from the Force—no flash of laser fire, no wayward star in her path, no ship or planet that someone had attempted to conceal with a cloaking device. Only sparkling darkness awaited her, and the moon—a moon, she realized as she looked through the star charts of the coralskipper, that should not be there at all.

Instead, only a sense of something lurking behind that moon came to her—something wayward, and something wrong, but not necessarily sinister. At least, not sinister to her.

Smoothing back her front feathers while taking care not to displace the cognition hood, Varra gently re-angled the nose of the skip and abandoned her former trail straight towards Csilla. She guided her ship down into the atmosphere, slowly easing the skip down towards the moon; while the newest generation of coralskippers had been modified to enable hyperspace travel, they still were not, and never had been designed for complex maneuvering in atmosphere.

On the planet, a circle of grey rock and rubble lay in neat circles of craters—an effect usually produced by systematic clearing of vegetation. However, lines of trees and forests surrounded the clearing, interspersed with small streams and a few ponds.

Right in the middle of the circlet of grey, larger piles of rubble stood. As she neared them, she could see crumbling sections of walls—the remnants of a base that had long since been abandoned and destroyed. As Varra hovered above the ground and took off the cognition hood so that she could look around, she also saw smaller sections of walls lying closer to the forest—houses, most of whose inhabitants had probably preferred to be able to see some green from their windows.

Spotting a crater with a reasonably smooth bottom, she slipped the cognition hood back on and set the coralskipper down. Before popping open the canopy, she used the Force to retain all the oxygen in the cockpit—just in case the atmosphere didn't have enough oxygen for her to breathe. However, once she stuck her head out of her Force-enforced bubble of air and took a cautious breath, no sense of tightening assaulted her lungs, and she let the air go.

The air escaped past her with a soft whoosh and a light breeze, and Varra brushed the feathers on her forehead back in line again. When she jumped out onto the ground, using her webbed feet to balance herself against a light slide of loose shale, a low gurgle and clinking echoed across the open space.

Varra spun around: towards the center of the crater, just below the coralskipper, the pebbles jumped and skipped in a low whirlwind.

_The dovin basals!_ she realized with a gasp, and used the Force to propel herself back into the cockpit. Without bothering to sit down, she pulled the cognition hood towards her face.

As soon as it slid on, she ordered the dovin basals to stop—but it was already too late. The barrage of tiny pebbles against it was interfering with the dovin basals' finer controls; in space, the damage would have been almost irrelevant. However, in atmosphere, it was impossible to maneuver without the complete control over repulsion usually afforded by the dovin basals.

She clucked furiously and tore the cognition hood off, slamming it against the walls of the cockpit. Since even her own coralskipper was too incompetent to deal with a few pebbles, she would need another ship—preferably one that turned off when she wanted it to. But first, she would have to make sure that whatever else turned up couldn't trace her back to Sekot.

Leaning down and untucking the door of the floor compartment, she removed the two fragmentation grenades and jumped out of the skip, scrambling up the side of the crater until she stood at the top of the rim. Once there, she armed the two grenades and used the Force to lift the first into the cockpit and the second onto the tail of the skip.

Allowing her cold anger at the dovin basals' incompetence to engulf her, she poured her energy into creating a Force bubble around the skip that extended to the edge of the crater, the edge stopping just shy of herself.

Exactly six seconds later, the skip exploded in a white and orange burst of coral that pounded against the sides of her Force-bubble, ricocheting back and forth for a few seconds before settling to the ground. Only when all the sounds of crashing rocks stopped did she dissipate the Force-bubble and look at what remained of the ship.

Extending halfway up the sides, a layer of fine orange dust covered the case of the crater. A few larger coral sections lay buried in the dust here and there, the coral still glowing a fiery red from the heat of the detonation; the entire crater stood out from the rest of the clearing in color.

Clucking at the amount of exertion she had already had to use, Varra took control of the swirls and eddies of the Force once again. She lifted an entire layer of grey rocks and dust onto the crater to cover all traces of coral.

Once the dust settled down, she stepped onto the crater—now much shallower—and trampled it down, using her feet to cover all traces of orange that still showed through.

Finally satisfied with her work, she settled down onto the center of the crater, tucking her crossed legs underneath her.

With her eyes closed, she sent out a beckon in the Force.

_Come._

* * *

_Hidden base, Corellia_

"So," Denjax Teppler said, lounging casually on one of the self-conforming chairs in the room. "Why are we waiting here?"

Genna Delphin mock-scowled at him. "You know perfectly well why we're waiting, Denjax. Darth Caedus is late."

Teppler rolled his eyes. "No," he said, sounding rather irritated. "I meant, why are we bothering to wait at all for him?"

Delphin sighed and leaned further back into her chair. "Because he's important," she recited. "Because he could probably kill us off right now. What else would we do with him? And what else can we do with errant Jedi?" she added before Teppler could respond.

His gaze, sly and amused, slid to her face. "Assassinate them?"

"Stop that!" she hissed, all trace of humor gone from her voice. She glanced around the room, her suddenly haunted eyes flickering back and forth.

Teppler observed her face for a moment. "Based on your reaction, _Genna,_ one might think that you're involved in rather…illicit activities."

His tone when he pronounced her name came out just short of flirtatious. While she shot him a disgusted glare, Delphin couldn't quite hide her shaking as her hands gripped the armrests.

"We're already risking war criminal trials from both sides by having this meeting in the first place, _Teppler._ It's perfectly reasonable for me to be cautious."

"And if you were in this room by yourself right now," Teppler stated with a mild smile, "then you might actually be able to trust the security of what we say here."

Hidden on top of a ceiling panel that ostensibly hid jamming equipment from view, Davin Fel masked a smile. Even though Teppler had only been referring to the possibility of his own betrayal without any knowledge of Davin's presence, the irony entertained him. In any case, the lack of trust between the two could prove interesting to exploit in the future.

Delphin's expression remained very much the same. "I can certainly hope that it will not come to that, Denjax." Her voice was severe and backed by iron, revealing a hint of the personality that had allowed her rise to Admiral.

"Of course," Teppler replied, smiling like an overgrown Hutt who had just been promised an excellent meal. The threat, however, did not dissipate. "We can certainly hope."

Delphin must have heard the note in his voice, since she shot him a sharp look. "What is it, Denjax? Tell me what you know!" she commanded when he didn't reply.

This time, his smile resembled that of a Hutt watching the slaughter of its prey. "We may certainly hope," he repeated again. "But let me remind you that your sister is currently in prison under accusations of treason and that, of course, cooperation on your part could help streamline her release."

Davin raised an eyebrow. The Fel family, it seemed, was not the only one accustomed to hiding siblings away from the public eye. He would have to make sure that Delphin's sister was whisked away, if only to slow down events on Corellia while he prepared to act.

Delphin's face went white, and she whirled around to glare at Teppler. "You son of a Sith!" she hissed. "You son of a Sith." The second time, however, the words came out weak and disbelieving.

"At a loss for words, my dear?" Teppler asked in a voice reminiscent of Pwoe at his finest.

"I'll ignore the fact that you know something that you shouldn't. What do you want, Denjax?" Delphin asked, her voice gone quiet.

"I want the same things that you do, Genna: power and money. If I can't have the later, then I'll settle for just the former."

Delphin somehow managed to pull herself together enough to respond. "We've already agreed on those two," she stated. "That's what's brought us here. The only difference between us is how far we're willing to go to get what we want."

Teppler turned a predatory smile in her direction. "And I would say that you're wrong there, my dear," he said, carelessly tossing out the endearment. "You're willing to go just as far as I am, if not farther. You just haven't acknowledged or harnessed that willingness yet."

She kept her voice flat. "Don't try to tell me that you're doing me a favor."

"Not at all." If she hadn't come to an understanding of the personality behind it, the smile on his face might have even been pleasant. "I am doing this for purely selfish reasons," he continued, sounding almost amused.

"Get to the point, Denjax," Delphin said sharply. "There's no point in prolonging this. What do you want?"

"I've already told you, Genna. I want power."

At his grin, she ducked her head and gazed at the floor.

"And you're going to be my pathway to it."

Eyes widening imperceptibly, Delphin's mouth opened and closed a few times before any sounds came out. "You're planning a coup, aren't you?" Her voice held a trace of admiration. "And right now, too…"

"A perfect response as always, my dear," Teppler said smoothly.

"You already have enough power to get yourself there. Why do you need m—oh," she breathed, startled. "You want the military, don't you?" she accused.

"A painful necessity," Teppler admitted, sounding not at all pained by the thought. "But you must agree that military might is by far the quickest path and, in the middle of a war, we don't have much time.

"They'll never go for it," Delphin said quickly. "It won't matter what I say—I'm just an Admiral. Turr's still in charge."

"Precisely." Teppler let the word stand with no further elaboration, and none was necessary.

"You mean to replace him as well, don't you?" She sounded annoyed with herself. "I should have guessed from the beginning when you called this meeting. Darth Caedus isn't coming at all, is he?"

Teppler ignored her last question. "You say that as if the substitution is a bad thing, Genna. But why wouldn't you follow my example? I will be in power, you will be in power, and your sister will be safely out of prison. How much simpler could it all be?"

Above, Davin chuckled softly. The media would love this when he eventually released it.

"I won't be the one to murder him," Delphin said—a last, half-hearted attempt to back out of the deal.

"Not at all," Teppler agreed, his tone returning its original amiability. "You do not need to worry about the Supreme Commander—my agents will be more than sufficient. In fact," he mused, "I think it would be better if you weren't associated with the death at all. So long as you're ready to take up the reins of power after his death."

Delphin sighed, collapsing back into her chair. "How soon?" she asked weakly.

Teppler just shrugged. "Now," he said.

"You haven't—" She seemed unable to complete the question.

"Now yet," he said, a cruel smirk playing its way across his features. "Not yet, but very soon."

"Then--?"

"I merely meant that you should be ready to assume power whenever, by some unfortunate happenstance, it should become necessary. My agents are opportunists, Genna, not planners."

"You're a lunatic," Delphin said irritably.

"I may very well be," Teppler said, sounding amused once again. "But when all this is over, I will be the one making the decisions."

Squaring her shoulders, she sat up and set her jaw into place. "Alright. I'm ready."

His eyes raked over her body and lingered uncomfortably. "Good," he said shortly. "And there is one more thing."

"There is always one more thing," she spat. "I've already given you what you want. Now leave me alone."

"To the contrary, my dear. You have not at all given me what I want."

She glared at him. "I'm giving you the entirety of Corellia. That should be more than enough."

"Precisely, but for one little omission. There is nothing yet to ensure that the transfer of power from you to me could, or will take place."

"I'm not just going to hand everything over to you, Denjax. You know that. If I'm going to have to put myself in power, I'm going to work to keep myself in power."

"Of course. I was counting on your ambition."

"What?" Delphin snapped.

"I merely want a level playing field," he said. "An access route to power, as it stands. All I want—all I need—is a conduit to such. Afterwards, we are free to play, each for himself."

"And if I chose not to obey your request?" He tone was mild, her gaze searching.

"It is not a request, Genna. If you choose not to listen, then I'm afraid that I would have to resort to more…forceful means." His voice hardened. "Do not mistake me. I will get the power I want, whether it is with you or through you."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You should remember, Denjax, that I have agents of my own."

"Which is why you are sitting in this chair today, rather than dead in a morgue," he mocked. "Don't get so riled up. I am merely asking for permission to marry your sister."

She responded on reflex, and immediate regretted it. "No!" she snapped. "And you don't need my permission anyways."

"I don't _need _it," he leered, moving his face so that it was only a few inches from hers. "But I want a good reputation, and it would hardly do for you to criticize."

Delphin gulped, and then moved her head away, shaking it in disgust. "I still thought that you were a decent person when you were married to Aiden—and even afterwards. Now," she said, and shook her head again. "Now you've just become another power-hungry politician."

Teppler chuckled. "I was always a power-hungry politician. But when Aidel was in power, I had no reason to upset the balance. Adaptation, Genna," he said, lightly tapping the armrest with his fingers. "There is a reason that politicians are scavengers."

She snorted. "And if I agree to your…request?"

"As soon as I get to power, the marriage will be meaningless, and you can have your darling sister back. The better you do your job, the faster that will be."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You hardly have a choice." Teppler reached into his pocket and pulled out a recording device, thrusting it into Delphin's hands. "You can listen to it right now if you want, but the entire conversation is here. Consider it my insurance. And there's no need to destroy it," he said idly when she turned the device around in her hands. "I have more."

"What makes you think that I won't give it to the holoreporters right now?"

He smiled viciously. "Please do remember that I have your sister in custody right now. It would be quite unfortunate should something happen to her, not to mention your own reputation if her reason for being incarcerated comes out." He stood up and walked out the door.

"So long as you have my sister, then it's really no insurance at all," she called to his retreating back while holding the recording in her hand.

Above, Davin Fel smiled and waited for Delphin to leave before dislodging the ceiling tile and jumping out. None of them had discovered that there was a third agent in the room. None of them had found out that he was Davin Fel.

They might find traces of him after he left, but it would trace back to Cem Fel. None of them would, in fact, know that he was not Cem Fel. He had all the information he needed now, and Davin's lips curved upwards in a cruel smile.

His father would be proud.


	7. Chapter 5: Destiny's Beckon

**Chapter Five: Destiny's Beckon**

"…_It was a strong effort of the spirit of good; but it was ineffectual. Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction…" -Frankenstein _by Mary Shelley

_Flareship, Solo quarters_

"It's open," a voice called before Kyp had a chance to knock on the door.

"I came as fast as I could," he said as he stepped into the room. "I was teaching a group of padawans, and I had to find them something to do."

He stopped in the doorway, staring at the mess inside.

It looked like Darth Caedus had gone on a rampage through one of Booster's casinos. A sabacc table—an almost empty sabacc table—stood in the center of the living room with a few cards and credits lying haphazardly across the surface. Meanwhile, more credits and cards lay about the room, some plastered into the paint on the walls and others tangled in Han Solo's hair.

Han and Booster sat on a couch, with Lando and Wedge cautiously peeking out from behind them. All four stared at Kyp with dazed expressions, clearly drunk.

Jaina Solo leaned against the opposite wall with her arms crossed. On the otherwise pristine white, there was a dark, circular impression where a credit must have hit. Seeing Kyp, her face brightened somewhat and a ghost of a smile appeared across her pale features.

"I had to get their attention," she said smugly, nodding towards the corner. Then, she lost any resemblance of cheerfulness from her face.

"Umm…" Kyp began, unsure of what was going on. "What's wrong?" At her scowl, he amended the question. "is something wrong?"

"You can go join them," she said tersely, uncrossing her arms to point across the room to the couch. "We're waiting for their wives to get here." She paused for a moment. "And Tycho," she added.

Shooting an inquisitive glance at Jaina, Kyp nevertheless walked over to the join the others. Since no space on the couch remained, he instead leaned against the wall in a mirror of Jaina's former pose. Just as he managed to settle himself into a marginally comfortable position, trying to ignore the credits pressing into his back, the door jerked open again.

"Tycho," Jaina said with a quick grin.

Tycho Celchu stepped inside and glanced around. "Why wasn't I invited?" he asked, mock-scowling at the bunch.

Jaina's expression soured again. "I was hoping that there was at least one person of this ship with enough sense to refuse one of their offers," she said, pointing towards Han and Lando. "Over there."

"Can we start now?" Wedge whined. "I was winning before you came in."

With a sharp glance at her chrono, Jaina ignored him.

"What's this about, Jaina?" Winter asked as she entered.

"I found everyone at a sabacc game and thought I might give them something more useful to do," she replied, dripping sarcasm even as her hands clenched into tight fists.

Winter frowned absently. "I thought I told Tycho not to get drunk until at least next week," she murmured, reaching behind her for the doorknob.

Jaina interrupted the action. "Don't bother shutting the door," she said. "There are more coming."

Iella's face appeared around the door first, followed by the rest of her body. "Don't tell me," she said with a sigh as she handed Jaina a bottle. "Wedge and the boys got into a brawl."

"Not quite," Jaina admitted, turning the bottle over and studying the label. "I'm the one who made the mess."

Iella raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure they deserved it," she said mildly as she moved to join Winter in standing next to the doorway to the kitchen.

Jaina pursed her lip and then bit it. She uncorked the bottle, twirling the cork around in her right hand as she brought the bottle up to her face and took a sniff. "Taanab fruit brandy," she said appreciatively. "That should keep them from falling asleep."

Leia slipped through the doorway holding several glasses in her hands, with a few more floating in front. "Who brought the brandy?" she asked in an attempt at cheer.

"I did." As Iella moved forward to grab the floating glasses, she remarked, "It's the Borleias vintage. When Jag mentioned the effects to me, I set aside a few bottles just in case. Turns out I was right."

She shared a conspiratorial glance with Winter. "We may have spiked our husbands' drinks a few times when they started getting too loud," Winter explained.

Something clicked into place in Kyp's mind. "That's why you insisted on getting me a separate mug that time I was playing sabacc with them!" he burst out. "You knew that I'd recognize the brandy."

Iella just laughed, holding out the glasses so that Jaina could fill them. "We had to get you a glass of normal ale instead."

"Have our husbands started reminiscing about their younger years again?" Tendra asked, slipping through the doorway to stand next to Iella.

"Hey!" Lando protested. "I'm not old yet."

Wedge ignored Tendra's comment altogether. "Can we start _now_?" he asked again.

Jaina rolled her eyes. She stalked forward from the wall, taking full glasses from Leia and Iella and slapping one into everyone's hands, although she did not take a glass for herself.

"_Now_ we can get started."

Kyp brought the glass up to his nose to smell the amber liquid sloshing within: it was just as pungent as it had been a decade and a half ago. However, Han slapped him hard on the back, and he took an involuntary gulp. He immediately had to call on the Force to avoid spitting it out; if Han, rather than Jaina, had been the one standing in front of him, he might not have spared the effort.

The brandy slid down his throat, scalding everything in its path and leaving him with a very disquieted stomach.

"Where's Zekk?" Kyp asked, sounding as if he needed a new voice box.

"Drunk and passed out," Jaina said shortly. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you Dad?" she asked, eyeing her father.

Kyp didn't need the Force to feel Han's amusement.

"We _might_ have tried to convince him to join our sabacc game," Han said with an innocent face that would only have worked on people not used to it.

A slap echoed through the room, and Han's hand flew up to the back of his head.

Jaina stomped forward, glaring at him. "Anyways," she continued, wearing a venomous expression and towering above those sitting on the couch, "he's all but useless right now."

"No offense, Jaina," Winter interjected, "but why are we here?"

Jaina let out a predatory smile.

In reaction, Kyp winced and took an automatic sip, forgetting the contents of his glass altogether. "Sithspit!" he yelped.

Jaina ignored him and focused in on Winter. "I need to restart the Insiders," she said.

"What about Luke and Corran, then?" Winter asked.

Jaina looked her full in the eye for a long moment without speaking. When Winter finally nodded, Jaina turned back around to face the others.

Kyp, however, did not feel like letting the question pass. "They're not here," he said flatly.

Jaina shrugged, a half-nervous expression flitting across her features. "They're Jedi Masters," she stated, waving a hand into the air. "I can't count on them to shoot first and ask questions later."

"Then why am I here?" Last time Kyp had checked—which had admittedly been before he had started drinking the brandy—he was still a Jedi Master.

Jaina shrugged again and scowled. "Because I need you to make sure that _they_," she said, pointing towards the huddle behind him, "don't shoot first and ask questions later either."

"In other words," Leia said, cutting Kyp off to spare them all from Jaina's frustration, "Luke and Corran are needed on Flareship, but the rest of us could conceivably copy Ben and hide somewhere else if we're followed."

"Which means that," Han continued, picking up where his wife had ended, "if you're particularly attached to your room at the moment, go out the door and keep your mouth shut."

"Got it?" Jaina said, raising an eyebrow at the group. When nobody tried to leave, she nudged the door shut with her foot. "Good. Now I can tell you what we're going to be doing."

"Which is?" Wedge pouted.

"We're going to be temporarily reforming the Insiders."

"How temporarily?" Iella asked, and then stopped herself. "I should probably rephrase that. What you do want out of this? Is this just for one mission, or is this going to be a permanent thing?"

"For now, just one mission," Jaina replied. "Once that's over, we can decide what to do with it all."

"Well?" Lando demanded. "What are we doing?"

Jaina's face tightened. "Retrieval mission," she said curtly. "In and out. If we're lucky, nothing goes run and we'll be back here in a few hours."

"Who and where?" Kyp asked. "And what if something does go wrong?"

"Jag's hurt," Jaina said bluntly. "I don't know where. Somewhere close. That's why you're here."

Leia leaned forward. "You felt it?" she asked.

"About half an hour ago, but then it faded out and I can't track it anymore. He's probably in hyperspace," she amended at Wedge's horrified look. "I didn't feel him die, but we're going to split up and try to grab him as soon as he drops into realspace."

"Why me?" Kyp asked. "I'm not that good at tracking. And what if something goes wrong?" he repeated again.

"You're terrible at tracking," Jaina corrected. "But you and Zekk are the ones that have worked with Jag the most. Zekk's not n—well, he's not as needed here. I would have picked him, except that he's drunk." She glared at her father.

"And if something goes wrong?" Kyp asked for the third time.

Jaina's eyes half-closed for a moment. "Then someone will die," she said quietly.

In the silence that ensued, she turned around and began striding toward the doorway. "Make sure to finish off your brandy before the leave the room," she called back. "We take off in an hour."

After Jaina was gone, Kyp eyed his brandy with distaste. "Do we have to?" he asked, swirling it around.

"You might get away with not drinking yours," Wedge grumbled, glancing towards Iella, who was regarding him with arms crossed. "But I don't think I have a choice."

* * *

_Caridan Exile, Unknown Regions_

"Why was I not informed of this?" Gavrisom yelled, his face flushed and spittle flying from his lips.

"I'm sorry?" Alei asked, forcing down a smile.

"The jump!" he snapped. "The jump already happened! Why was I not told?"

Alei denied him the respect of being told to his face, and returned to look at the system scans. "I'm afraid that I have no idea what you mean, Commander," she replied blithely. "Since you're still here, it's clear that we have yet to jump."

"Don't mock me!"

Alei whirled around, rolling her eyes so that he could see. "I am not mocking you," she stated. "I am pointing out the facts. If you are unable to process them, I'm afraid I don't have the time to help."

Gavrisom lunged forward amidst a maelstrom of purple and gold brocade. He stopped only inches from Alei's startled face. "Do not play word games with me, _handmaiden_," he hissed, enunciating every word. "Aula confides in you."

"You will address her as _Commander_ Syani," Alei bit back, using the oft-repeated phrase to buy herself a moment to think.

"_Commander_ Syani, then," Gavrisom mocked. "It hardly makes any difference. You carry all her most trusted secret. _You knew that most of the fleet has already left._"

Aula glared back. "Is that what you have, Gavrisom? Generalizations and assumptions. I pity the man who has to give you your assignments, since he must spend half his time waiting for you to understand them."

"Tell me her secrets," he insisted, leaning forward so that his lips were mere inches from hers. "Tell me what you know."

She shook her head. "If I were a secret keeper that could not keep secrets," she whispered.

He drew closer, hanging on every word.

"If I were a secret keeper that could not keep secrets," she repeated, "then I would be dead." She spat in his face before he understood her trick.

He reared back, eyes flashing while his cheeks mottled with patches of red and purple that matched his cape.

"Then die!" he yelled, stepping forward to bring his hands around her neck.

Her eyes widened and her face paled. She tried to take a step back, only to find that she was bound into place by the ring of furious flesh circle her neck. "No!" she whispered in horror, pupils dilating.

"So you do fear something, then," he whispered, leaning in once again.

"I fear that I will die before the galaxy knows what you are," she tried to say, but her voice came out as a high squeak.

"What I am?" Gavrisom questioned with a slow, malevolent grin. "Or what I will be?"

Alei gazed back at him. "You've already become who you are—who you want to be," she said softly. "There is no changing that."

Gavrisom jerked, and his hands tightened around her neck. "That may be true," he admitted in much the same tone, "but if it is, then you do not understand who I am."

"Prove it to me," Alei challenged. "Show me."

Gavrisom drew his face away from hers, and his lips curled into a smile. "Very well," he conceded with a flourish, although his hands remained curled around her neck.

"Then let me go," Alei said hastily—too hastily.

He chuckled. "I will offer you two favors in exchange for a life."

Alei raised her eyebrows, confident the worst of the danger had passed. "My life, or yours?" she asked flippantly.

He chuckled again. "Yours, of course. Do you agree to my terms?"

"What are the favors?" Alei demanded.

"First," Gavrisom said, "that I will make the jump with my squadron, and that no harm or disgrace will come to me before then."

"Not in any relation to my actions," Alei agreed. "I cannot promise that fate will agree with me."

He nodded. With a jerk, Gavrisom pulled her body forward and then shoved her back, releasing his hands from her neck so that she went careening into the floor.

"The second," he stated, towering over her, "I will ask for in my own time."

"So long as it is good for the Caridan people," Alei whimpered, trying to pull herself upright.

"And so it will be."

* * *

_Mos Eisley Cantina, Tatooine_

In the over four decades that had passed since Luke Skywalker and Han Solo had first met there, the inside of the Mos Eisley Cantina had changed very little. The bartenders had aged and another layer of dust had settled over the tables. Superficially, however, even those changes were barely visible. Dye covered the hair of the bartenders, leaving the wrinkles around their eyes the main evidence of aging. The subdued lighting in the room, which stayed just a shade above pure darkness, prevented the grime on the tables from being readily seen.

Despite that, the cantina was no less seedy than ever. Even with the long-standing rules, various blasters—most of them illegal, extremely deadly, or both—hung conspicuously in the belts of various species. The only ones not packing visible weapons were those who showed their true faces—the ones known to be good fighters or known to have multiple hidden blasters, so that only a complete fool would engage them in combat.

That did not mean, of course, that even big blasters could protect a drinker from attack. Anyone who wasn't much of a fighter had either avoided the place altogether, or kept their identities well-concealed behind hoods and cowls, disguises and makeup.

The doorway provided the main source of light for the entire cantina—kept eternally open in the hope of luring unsuspecting customers in, its orientation nevertheless meant that full sunlight only filtered through for a small portion of the day. Otherwise, the bartenders kept a dim glow alive under the counter so that they could see what drinks they mixed, and an occasional blaster bolt led to a brief bout of illumination.

Over the years, patrons who frequented the place had discovered a number of subtle corners that could not be lit up at all unless one turned on a glowstick while there. These same patrons had also developed an awareness—at the cost of multiple lives—that sitting in any of those positions meant certain death from one of the various crime or drug lords that had claimed the spot.

The drug lords, it was understood by most customers, preferred darkness to prevent themselves from being seen, while being able to watch the room in case of an attempted arrest—not that many had ever happened. With the willingness of most of the patrons to back up their power with force in mind, few soldiers ventured inside, and those that ducked in for a drink while in uniform kept themselves in full sight and well towards the center of the room.

Almost all of the patrons wore dark clothing—partly because wear and dust turned anything that color after a few days, and partly because it gave them the opportunity to slink around unnoticed in the pallor of the room. Interestingly enough, however, the gleam of stormtrooper armor was not altogether uncommon—while no real stormtroopers remained, the authorities on Tatooine had never bothered to confiscate the armor. Therefore, the patrons kept them because it afforded them some protection against hand-to-hand combat weapons—and because it stood as a reminder that, while the Empire was long done, the traditions of the cantina were not.

Even though it was barely midday, the cantina was fairly crowded, but still nowhere near its full capacity. In the evening, once the dancers emerged onto the tiny, but well-illuminated stage at the back, a new crowd would pour into the cantina, prompting many of the more dubious members to take advantage of the chaos and make a convenient disappearance.

At the very end of the bar—a place illuminated just enough to outline a dim and shadowy figure—Yub Stimson sat with a still-full mug in front of him. Covered in a dark brown cloak, he had drawn the hood up around his face to hide a head full of blond hair—hair that would have stood out immediately in the room. He scowled as another man, similarly garbed but with the hood left down to reveal short-cropped dark hair—plopped himself onto an adjacent seat.

"Another Lomin Ale for me," he growled as he saw the drink in front of Yub.

Seeing as he had barely drunk more than a sip or two in the several hours since he had ordered his drink, Stimson hastily took up his mug. When the bartender arrived, he pretended to gulp down the last remnants while actually tossing the brew onto the wall beside him. Setting the empty mug down as Janson slapped a few credits onto the countertop, he gestured for a refill.

Once the bartender finally left, Yub let out a tired sigh and slumped down even further into his seat. "You realize that no matter how much to try to belong here, you'll always be too cheerful to fit in?"

"I may not be grim enough, but I'll certainly be drunk enough in a few minutes," Wes Janson said in a low, sing-song voice.

Yub just frowned and leaned his head against the wall. "First of all, there's a difference between being drunk and therefore happy, and being happy but simultaneously drunk. Anyone here could tell you the same if you asked, as long as they don't try to kill you first."

Eyeing his drink and grimacing, he took the smallest of sips, made a face, and immediately slapped the mug down.

"Secondly, I'd prefer it if you would at least wait until we're finished talking before you get yourself drunk. I don't deal well with drunk pilots, I don't deal well with Rogue Squadron pilots, and I don't want to find out what I'll d if I have to deal with a drunk Rogue Squadron pilot."

Wes moved—something between a nod and a shrug. Then, he picked his mug up and took a "drink," but Yub saw very little of the alcohol actually make it into Wes's mouth. Rather, Wes's massive spillage, followed by grumbles and complaints from the surrounding patrons—patrons that immediately began to move away—appeared more of a theatrical performance than anything else.

"How did your meeting go?" Wes asked in a low whisper while continuing to take sloppy "sips" of Lomin Ale. "I started wondering after you didn't arrange a meeting until a couple weeks after you said you would."

"Nothing significant happened," Yub said curtly, but at the same volume. "I got dosed by some Force lightning and I wasn't in much of a state to do anything, so I found an empty room at one of the places around here and slept for a couple weeks."

Wes grinned. "Considering what I know of the beds at the 'places around here,' I bet that was comfortable."

"No beds, just a floor," Yub admitted. "But it still beats having to sleep in a cockpit for a couple days straight."

Wes shot him a concerned glance. "You weren't able to get any bacta, then?"

Yub let out a bitter snort. "Too expensive for me. And if I had showed up at any of the medwards that could afford to keep more than a couple bacta bandages around, they would have started asking questions. Thankfully," he said, reaching a hand up to his face, "the scars aren't too bad, and most of them don't look permanent."

"Nonpermanent and not painful are two different things," Wes intoned. The phrase sounded like some bizarre children's nursery rhyme said in a raspy voice—the stuff of children's' nightmares. "I'll take the not painful over the not permanent."

Yub glared at him. "That's enough," he snapped. "That part's over already, so we better start talking logistics. There's no point in wasting time, and if we stick around here for too long, it'll start looking suspicious."

"You don't frequent these places much, do you?" Wes asked with an amused grin. "If they have to carry you out on a hoversled, then you'll start looking like one of the regulars."

Stimson snorted. "Stop wasting time and start talking logistics," he repeated.

"Such as?"

Yub rolled his eyes. "Such as Jacen Solo."

"Darth Caedus," Wes hissed, instantly irritable.

"Considering that they inhabit the same body, I fail to see the difference between them once they're dead. In any case," Yub continued, ignoring Wes' attempts to cut in, "we need to eliminate him as a problem."

Wes groaned. "I already know I'm crazy. I already know you're crazy. But if you're going to do what I think you're going to do, then you're just plain stupid. And this is coming from someone who's spent too much time with Han Solo and Wedge Antilles."

Yub ignored him. "It's not stupid. It's practical."

"Fine," Wes agreed. "It's not stupid. It's idiotic."

Yub glared at him again. "It's not as bad as you think. I just need your help to contact someone that can get me into Coruscant without being spotted."

"Fine," Wes repeated. "It's not bad. It's suicidal."

"Stop being irritating, Janson." Yub took a gulp of ale, deciding that being drunk was preferable to having to listen to the man. "I know that you know people who can do that."

Wes sighed, sobering up slightly. "Luke is going to kill me."

"You're going to ask Ben Skywalker?" Yub let out a snort. "You must be even more insane than I am. I'm only planning on taking on Jacen Solo, at least."

Wes shrugged. "Ben's the only one I know that isn't on that hidden Jedi base—wherever that hidden Jedi base happens to be—and he was Jacen's apprentice for a while when Caedus was still Jacen, so we can hope that he knows Caedus as well."

"Jacen or Caedus?"

Wes winced and buried his face into his hands. "I need to be a lot more drunk if you want an answer to that. Ask me again in an hour and I might be able to give you a coherent reply."

Yub changed tracks. "So you're intending for me to get out alive. I find that reassuring."

Wes' eyes peeked out from behind his hands and he grinned. "Whoever said anything about getting out alive?"

Yub sighed. "I'll assume that you don't want Luke Skywalker to kill you," he recited. "I'll also assume that you think that Luke Skywalker would kill you if he found out his son was dead on some mission that you suggested. Then, I'll assume that Ben Skywalker isn't the type of person who would just leave me behind. That means that either I get out alive, or you're dead."

Wes grunted.

"Isn't that encouraging?" Yub said with false cheer, and immediately blamed the Lomin Ale."Your life or death depends on mine, even if you don't come along on the mission."

Wes glared without responding. Instead, he banged his hand down on the bar and, once the bartender arrived, gestured for more drinks. Only an hour later, when a pyramid of empty mugs rested on the countertop in front of them, did either of them speak.

"I still can't believe that you came up with this pseudonym. It sounds like a two-year-old's nickname!" Yub laughed.

Downing the remnant of his drink, Wes grinned. He beckoned to the bartender—who was now keeping a firm eye on the two due to the rate that they were drinking the ale—and nodded for a refill. "Exactly. It sounds so fake that Caedus would never think it was."

"From what my brother's told that, that sounds like Han Solo's logic, and Jacen Solo is his son, so he could probably see through it all."

"F—"

Yub cut him off. "Don't use my real name."

Wes let out a merry cackle. "Fine, _Yub."_ He sobered for a moment. "Jacen Solo may be Han Solo's son, but Darth Caedus is not."

"Once again, I fail to see the difference. To my knowledge, a transformation into a Sith Lord doesn't completely erase somebody's brain."

Wes let out a tired sigh. "It won't really matter for us anyways. Any redemption or something like that will be up to Jedi. I probably shouldn't even believe in the stuff, but I've spent too long listening to Luke wax on after Jade's death. We're just pawns, and our job is to find a way to get them close enough to Caedus so that they can do theirs."

He brightened up as a bar fight broke out behind them. "At least—your job in the war is to follow orders and do just that. I've never been one to follow orders, but, given your family history, you'll probably do a decent job."

"And if I was the black sheep of the family?" Yub decided that the alcohol must have gotten to his head, since he had just made a joke.

"A black sheep under your father!" Wes Janson laughed.

"Yes, General—" Yub stopped when Wes shoved him over. "What was that for?"

Wes grabbed hold of his arm. "We'd better get out of her before you let something slip. You don't look like you can hold your liquor, and I'm going to drag you out when you still have something left in your head, and not wait until I have to make a scene about it."

"Since when do you not make a scene about anything?" Yub muttered as he was dragged out the door.

Wes groaned as he made it through the door. If dealing with a drunk Rogue Squadron pilot was bad, dealing with a drunk Chiss ex-robot had to be worse.


	8. Chapter 6: Just So Soon Before

**Chapter Six: Just So Soon Before**

"…_when the storms of life are strong, when you're wounded, when you don't belong…"_ –"The Blessing" by Celtic Woman

_Empty Space, near Flareship_

Three ships popped out of hyperspace, emerging into an area of pure black apart from the twinkling of distant stars.

Ensconced in the chair in her StealthX, Jaina glanced outside her viewport to confirm that both the _Lady Luck—_with Iella on board in addition to Lando and Tendra—and Wedge's X-wing had safely followed her through hyperspace.

Satisfied that they were both there, she turned her concentration outwards, reaching into the Force. It flowed into her mind, but delivered neither calm, nor confirmation, nor patience. An instinct—no matter that the origin—had compelled her to type in the coordinates that her led her here, but the Force would not confirm her intuition.

Since, as of yet, she felt nothing, Jaina allowed her mind to drift through the events of the last day. That sentence she had spoken between leaving her parents' quarters—her foretelling of a death if this mission went wrong—worried her. She hadn't meant to say them—had only meant to take a moment to calm herself down and reassure herself that nothing out of the ordinary would happen—but they had sprung forth nevertheless.

If it had truly been a prophecy from the Force, however, she didn't want to think about who would die. Everyone involved in the mission—Jag, Kyp, her parents, Lando and Tendra, Wedge and Iella, Tycho and Winter—were old friends. They didn't deserve to die by her mistake—none of them.

Something slammed into her StealthX, jerking her forward into her crash webbing. Proximity alarms began to blare.

"Sithspit! Sticks," she yelled to her droid, "shut those off!"

The cockpit went completely silent as Jaina guided her ship away from the object. Once she was sure that her StealthX was far enough away to avoid more damage, she had a chance to survey the ship that had crashed into her upon emerging from hyperspace—that is, if it would still be called a ship. Laser burns raked over the entire hull, and the starboard engine looked like little more than a charred piece of metal. While the port engine looked intact, Jaina seriously doubted that it would function much better than the other.

In fact, what remained of the ship looked remarkably like a StealthX, except that few people other than Jedi used StealthX's at all due to the comm restrictions. The only person who she knew that would have one—

A single glance at the pilot in the ship cemented the conclusion forming in her mind: Jag.

She used the Force to lightly probe Jag's body for injuries, but stayed far away from his mind. There were a few bumps and bruises, possibly a cracked rib or two, and a larger bump on his head that should have left a concussion. What she didn't find, however, was anything to explain the feeling of extreme wrongness—the feeling that something was set to go wrong, and fast.

"We've found him!" she yelled over the comm. "It doesn't look like he's flight capable, though. Lando, can you…"

"I'm already suited up and ready to go," Tendra interrupted.

"Be careful," Jaina said.

"Jaina," Wedge asked, his voice tight and anxious. "How is he?"

"He's alive, Wedge."

She heard a sigh of relief over the comm.

Jaina flexed her fingers to dispel some of the tension. "Something feels wrong, through. I'll feel a lot better after Cilghal clears him."

"Injures?" Iella asked.

"Mostly minor," Jaina said in frustration. "That's what worries me, because I can't figure out where the problem is."

"Alright," Tendra said as the _Lady Luck_ neared Jag's ship. "I'm in position. Anything I should know before I go in?"

Jaina sent out another probe, taking the time to look through the entire wreckage. All she caught was surprise entrenched in the entire hunk of metal—the type of imprint left in the Force when strong emotions came into play.

"Nothing important for getting Jag out," she told Tendra. "But we need to sit down and talk when get back," she added, biting on her lip and clasping her hands together. "Something's wrong with this situation."

"That's too much damage," Wedge agreed. "If Jag just got caught by a random patrol, then we would have seen a lucky shot, or maybe a few lucky shots—not this many. He should have been able to escape before they could mobilize. That means that either they were looking for him, or, more likely, since nobody's seems to have followed him here, that someone's been making improvements to their lasers."

Meanwhile, Tendra, wrapped in an orange flightsuit, soon appeared on a line tethered to the _Lady Luck._ As she moved towards the battered StealthX, she flailed an arm out in an attempt to avoid getting her flightsuit cut on one of the many sharp edges. A few moments later, her arm stopped moving and latched onto Jag's.

"I've got him!" she said exuberantly over the comm. "Start pulling the tether in."

As Jaina watched, Tendra, gripping Jag's right arm with one hand and the tether with another, slowly moved in towards the _Lady Luck._

"Everyone in place?" she asked.

"We're good to go," Iella said.

Closing her eyes, Jaina brushed Kyp's mind with the Force. Once she was sure that had felt her, she broadcast a click across the comm. "Alright, everyone," she said. "We're done. Back we go."

The danger sense materialized as nothing more than a fuzzy tendril of acknowledgement at the back of her mind. It was a slight feeler—a passing note to her that something would happen—soon.

She heard a series of yells—Tendra and Iella.

"Stop!" Jaina yelled, panic flooding her mind, but it was too late. Both the _Lady Luck_ and Wedge's X-wing had already jumped into hyperspace. With no other alternative, Jaina bit down her lip and pulled the hyperspace lever, hoping that everything would be fine when she arrived.

* * *

_Royal Palace, Hapes_

"Daddy's here!" Allana yelled. She ran up to Tenel Ka and, ignoring the protests of the nanny droid following her, grabbed hold of her mother's skirts.

Tenel Ka absently picked up her daughter while she watched the news on the Holonet.

"Well?" Allana demanded when her mother didn't answer. "Can I see him?"

"Who?" Tenel Ka asked, turning off the screen.

"Daddy."

Tenel Ka dropped the remote she held in her right hand. As it hit the crystal floor, it shattered into pieces that reflected off the floor.

"Oh dear!" Taia cried. "Allana, you shouldn't have upset your mother."

"What?" Tenel Ka asked in shock. She waved the nanny droid away when Taia tried to grab Allana's hand.

Allana bobbed her head. "I know that Daddy's bad," she said, looking petulant, "but I still want to see him."

Tenel Ka's face collapsed and she cradled Allana to her chest.

"Allana," Taia admonished. "You should come with me for your nap. Your mother is very busy right now."

Tenel Ka put out a hand and stopped Taia. "Taia, leave," she gasped out. When the droid continued coming closer, she continued, "Authorization code beta-aurek-four-nine."

Then, Tenel Ka turned her gaze back to Allana. "Your father is gone," she whispered, remembering a Jacen she had known years—decades—ago.

Allana's brow wrinkled. "I can feel him," she said. "He's here."

"I know," Tenel Ka said hoarsely. "But he's not your father anymore."

"Then who is he?" Allana asked, her brow wrinkling again.

Tenel Ka couldn't bear to answer the question—to tell her daughter what her father had become.

"He's here," Allana insisted. "He's coming to see us."

Tenel Ka looked at her in alarm. "Here?" she yelled.

"Did I make you mad?" Allana asked.

Tenel Ka shook her head and tried to hide her upset. "No, Allana. I'm just remembering my childhood," she managed.

"You mean Daddy when he was younger?"

Tenel Ka almost smiled: Allana was far too perceptive. Instead, she reached out to the Force again, trying to hide herself and her daughter as much as possible. Against Darth Caedus, it would be little use, but it might buy them a few precious moments.

Convinced that she had done as much as she could, Tenel Ka began walking toward the exit, still holding Allana.

"Where are we going?" Allana asked, her mouth curling into a pout. "I want to stay and see Daddy."

Tenel Ka just shook her head again, unable to speak. If Darth Caedus managed to capture Allana…

"We have to leave," she said finally.

"But Daddy's here!" Allana protested.

"It's not safe anymore," Tenel Ka said, reaching her own room. She punched in the key code and slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Then, she set Allana on the bed and rummaged through her closet, changing the Hapan gown she wore for a set of Dathomiri armor.

Tenel Ka grabbed a few more things—a holocube, a few holos, and one more set of Dathomiri armor—and tossed them into a bag.

"Let's go," she said, holding a hand out to Allana.

Allana shook her head and refused to take it. "Daddy will get better if we wait for him, and then we can see him."

Tenel Ka's breath hitched. Allana's words, as innocent as they were, stung because Tenel Ka might have said them a few years ago. Now, though, too many years on the Hapan throne had rendered her tired; she couldn't sanction delaying Darth Caedus' demise for her own wishes if it meant more lives lost.

"If he gets better," Tenel Ka promised, "then you can see him."

Allana grabbed her hand. "Let's go then," she said, following her mother towards their hidden ship.

* * *

_Darth Caedus' ship, above Hapes_

"Ducha Duqat," Darth Caedus said, barely restraining himself from exploding. "Why is your fleet surrounding Hapes?"

While the Ducha could not possibly have seen him, he nevertheless motioned to the swarming ships that patrolled Hapes' skies.

"These are dangerous times, Darth Caedus," Duqat said—pleasantly enough, but not quite in a friendly manner.

Her face remained drawn so back in her hood that only faint shadows appeared when she moved, and none of her emotions were easily visible. When he reached out in the Force, he caught the slight threat behind the words, as well as amusement—amusement quite possibly directed at the situation.

Darth Caedus scowled—the Ducha stood in the way of his seeing Allana. He cut to the chase, unwilling to waste more time. "I want to talk to Tenel Ka."

Tenel Ka was, of course, on planet; he had used the Force to assure himself of that before uncloaking his ship. While she had been too preoccupied to recognize his touch—especially since she would not expect it—Allana had reacted. He had pulled away as fast as he could, but there was little assurance that it had been fast enough: if she informed her mother about his arrival, then…

"You are banned from Hapan space, Darth Caedus," Duqat replied. "The only reason I have not fired on you is in the hope that you will leave peaceably."

Caedus clenched his fists to prevent himself from shooting Force-lightning at her; if he ruined yet another holoprojector, he would have to stop on Coruscant for repairs before traveling elsewhere. "I _must_ talk to the Queen Mother," he insisted, dipping into the Force to tug at her mind. It felt like firing blaster bolts into a waterfall; while his influence was absorbed, it meant very little.

She raised her hands, gripping the edge of her hood and pulling it down. He caught sight of hard, unyielding features. A fine scar traveled from the side of her mouth up to just above her cheekbone—certainly not beautiful in the Hapan sense, but nevertheless striking. It pulled at her mouth, making her expression tighter than it might otherwise have appeared.

"Do you see that scar?" she asked, her tone resembling cool durasteel. "I received it fighting in battle. After my predecessor for this position…died, I was promoted because the Queen Mother believed that I could keep Hapes' military strong." She smiled slightly. "I am a warrior1, Caedus, not a politician."

Caedus just chuckled at her. "Your scar would prevent you from any ascension in Hapan society."

Duqat's smile instantly faded. "Hapans would also prefer life to death," she said curtly. "_That_ is why I am here."

Her phrasing, as vague as it was, confirmed his suspicions. Ducha Duqat had not been, as he had originally assumed, a pick based off assassination and political scheming. Instead, she had been placed at a pivotal point in the hopes that she could defend Hapes from all outsiders—including him. His chest twanged for a moment at the thought that even he considered himself an outsider where Allana was concerned.

"Very well then," he said. "I won't bother with trifles, if you're not interested. Let me tell you this: I _will_ be piloting this ship down to the surface, and your pilots _will not_ succeed in shooting me down."

This time, Duqat's smile looked real as she nodded to somebody off-screen. "We will not have to," she said smugly.

Caedus felt a sudden flare of warning and urging from the Force. Reacting on instinct, he threw himself away from the holocam and towards the controls. The moment his fingers brushed against them, he shot the ship forwards—the sense of urgency developed, grew, was growing—and then the ship buckled, sending him flying against the bulkhead before he could process what had happened.

He stood up and slammed a fist against the metal plating, leaving a rounded dent. "Echuta!" he snapped, striding back towards the holocam; if Duqat had not been his easiest path to Allana, it would have already been in pieces. As he walked, Caedus forced his expression into a semblance of normalcy—despite his rage and impatience, he could not show Duqat how much seeing Tenel Ka and Allana meant to him.

"Very nice. Repulsor generators."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Do you understand now?" she asked in an even tone.

Caedus nodded. While Duqat's ships and personnel sat in a cocoon of repulsors, they had no need to fight him. Meanwhile, unlike planetary shields, the ships generating the repulsors could swirl around, making it much more difficult for him to track enough minds to control them and disable the generators.

However, that did not explain the sense of loss—of lost opportunity—he felt. Certainly, the repulsors were an obstacle, despite a well-planned one, but he would find a way through. They were nothing more than a distraction—a distraction! His mind snatched on the idea, and he understood. Duqat was also nothing more than a diversion—an attempt to stall for time while something else happened.

He extended his mind to the surface of the planet, feeling for irregularities, or nervousness. Most of the planet continued their meaningless lives, unaware of what happened in the skies above. Nothing was unusual—nothing—and then he realized that he could no longer feel Tenel Ka or Allana on the planet.

They could not have escaped—no ships had slipped past the repulsors.

Caedus let out a roar. Allana was still on the planet, and he had to get her away—away from Tenel Ka, away from the Jedi, and away from danger—before she was gone forever, hidden.

Closing his eyes, he found a pair of Headhunters and made one of the pilots think that there was a crystal snake crawling underneath his flight gloves. The man twitched, sending his fighter off-course, and Caedus opened his eyes to see with satisfaction a blossom of fire outside his viewport. The two deaths did not calm him, but instead fueled his rage: every person in the skies stood between himself and his daughter.

Duqat continued to look at him. "I'm no idiot, Caedus," she continued calmly, ignoring the string of explosions underneath the repulsors. "I can offer you a deal?"

"I don't need any deals!" Caedus yelled. "Your ships can't last forever."

She snorted. "No, but the Queen Mother will be well off the planet by the time that you're done."

Caedus snarled.

Duqat held up a finger. "My terms are simple enough: I stay out of harm's way, and if you happen to…displace the current Queen Mother, then I have your support in taking her place."

Caedus scowled at her. "You won't make it past a few more months."

"Your concern for my safety is touching," Duqat said sarcastically. "However, I'm more than capable of looking out for myself. Do you accept my terms?"

"I do."

* * *

_Luke Skywalker's office, Flareship_

Luke regarded the two Jedi before him without blinking.

"So," he began. "I've asked the two of you to come here because I have a mission I'd like to propose to you."

He did not miss the pause before either of them responded. It could simply mean that there were involved in something else at the time—and yet it also felt wrong. Neither Zekk nor Lowbacca could be considered particularly busy apart from teaching padawans and, even if either of them had inherited the Solo propensity for trouble, the change of finding such at Flareship remained slim.

"So where are we going?" Zekk asked, pulling out a chair and plopping himself into it. "I'm up for anything that doesn't involved trying to keep padawans from skewering each other with the lightsabers they've just built."

"Jedi Zekk," Luke began, and then gave up on the idea of formality altogether. Even if the two of them completed the mission unscathed—and, for some reason, an unsettling feeling in the bottom of his stomach kept chasing the possibility out of his mind—it could easily be months or years before he saw them again.

"Zekk," Luke started again, "and Lowbacca: I said 'propose' to both of you because this mission is going to be strictly optional. As both of you know, until we come out of hiding, we can't risk you rejoining us once you've left. Because of that, I'm leaving it up to you whether that's something you're willing to sacrifice."

Lowbacca did not pull up a chair. Despite Luke's attempts to make his office as welcoming as possible, he had had a hard time, even while in Coruscant, finding a chair that could easily fit both a Wookiee. Now that he had seen Lowbacca bending over to get through his office door, he had no wish to rip a hole in the doorway just to get the chair through—assuming, of course, that he somehow managed to procure a Wookiee-sized chair while in hiding.

[I am in,] he growled, his voice grave.

The message was simple, unadorned, and delivered in a tone completely contrary to Zekk's initial question.

Zekk, however, rolled his eyes and nodded his assent.

Suddenly, Luke had the thought that the next time he saw the two of them could easily be at their funerals. Pushing the idea away from the moment, he instead nodded at both of them.

"Thank you for agreeing," he said mildly. "I just want to warn both of you that, while I personally think this mission is very important, it could prove to be the equivalent of chasing a non-existence specter."

Zekk snorted. "Please," he muttered. "Spare me. I've just gotten over a hangover, and I'd like to be headache-free when I head off."

Luke let an amused smile slip, but ignored Zekk's comment for the most part. "Not to mention, of course, the danger involved."

Zekk sat up sharply. "What do you mean?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Have you had any visions?"

"Not quite visions," Luke responded. "I just…something about this mission feels off, and it's worrying me. Phantom premonitions, if you will."

His last few words finally caught Lowbacca's attention. [As with Lumiya?] he asked.

Luke started to nod. "Yes," he began, and then shook his head, "and no. It's the same type of sense, but even more urgent than before, as if whatever's going to happen is about to reveal itself. And then, it feels as if there's some intelligence behind all this, rather than simply malice."

"As if there was someone still hidden who was manipulating Lumiya," Zekk mused.

Luke nodded again. "Correct, which is why I want you two to go looking, but also why I'm warning you about this now. You both know how much of a mess Lumiya managed to create when she reappeared, and we can't afford a repeat of that right now. Dealing with Darth Caedus and the Galactic Alliance is going to keep us occupied enough as is."

[Do you believe that we can find this person?] Lowbacca growled.

"Possibly so." Luke shrugged. "If this person really is motivated by cold intelligence, it may be harder to lure her out of the shadows compared to Lumiya, especially if revenge isn't in her mind."

"You don't think that this is about revenge?" Zekk asked, and Luke felt a burst of surprised from him.

He paused a moment to consider. "I don't believe that she's interested in revenge on me," he stated, wording his words carefully. "I can feel personal danger, yes, but not targeted. Whether she's after the Jedi or the galaxy as a whole, I can't say."

[Then this is a female?]

Luke chuckled. "I'm probably more used to talking about phantoms as a 'she' after Lumiya. In any case, keep your eyes open and don't rule anyone out. _Even if you already know them._"

Zekk sat bolt upright and Lowbacca leaned forward in his chair.

After a long silence, Zekk stated what was running through all three of their minds.

"Do you think that this is a Jedi?" he asked.

Luke paused for a moment, considering. "No," he said. "I don't. Logically, it seems likely, but I hope that it isn't." The idea, however, had plagued his dreams for some time—what if he _had_ missed another Jacen Solo, another Darth Caedus?

"Where do you want us to start, then?" Zekk asked. "I assume that you have something concrete in mind, at least to get us going."

In response, Luke reached to his side and turned off the lights in the room. Then, he thumbed a button underneath his desk. A three-dimensional holoprojection of a round moon sprang up bathing the room in an oddly blue little.

"Akaith," Luke said, and looked towards both Zekk and Lowbacca.

[I do not recognize the name,] Lowbacca said. However, he leaned towards the holoprojection to study it closely.

Zekk's expression, however, puzzled Luke. Zekk's face was pensive, tinted perhaps with a trace of longing. However, only contemplation appeared in the Force, so the second of those emotions could easily be a side effect of the lighting.

"Akaith," Zekk said slowly, as if testing the word in his mouth. "It feels familiar somehow," he said, still speaking very slowly. "Akaith. No—not familiar—important. As if it matters. Where is it and why have you brought it up?" he demanded.

"Akaith is a moon on the edge of the Unknown Regions at the boundary between Chiss and Imperial space" Luke informed them. "Anything I know about it is completely outdated, since the last record I can find comes from the old Jedi files. All I know is that it's under Chiss control at the moment—given the history, though, it seems as if control over the moon changes every time somebody signs a treaty or another."

[Then it is on the edge of Galactic Alliance space as well,] Lowie began.

"And therefore at a very important strategic position," Luke continued.

Zekk's lips thinned. "Which means that," he said, continuing the shared line of thought, "if the hyperspace routes word out correctly, it could be a very valuable asset, no matter which of the major governments somebody wants to attack."

[Which is why power on it continues to change,] Lowbacca grumbled. [Is it contested?]

"To my knowledge," Luke said, "it's not even in the Galactic Alliance archives. That said, I suspect that the only reason it hasn't been contested yet is that both the Galactic Alliance and the Imperial Remnant have been too preoccupied to deal with it."

"Then why Akaith?" Zekk asked again.

"I was doing research on fallen Jedi," Luke said, "and the name caught my attention for some reason. Other than that, it's as good of a place to start as any. Now, back to the mission."

Zekk cut in, leaning forward in his chair as Lowie straightened up to a standing position. "What exactly are our mission parameters?"

Luke gave him a blank look. "Mission parameters?" he repeated.

Zekk nodded. "Mission parameters. What exactly are we supposed to do with this person? Just find them? Follow them? Arrest them?" He left the final and most obvious possibility unspoken.

"Follow," Luke said firmly, looking them both in the eye, and waiting until each made eye contact. Lowie responded immediately, although it took Zekk a moment to meet his gaze and nod acknowledgement. "I've chosen you two because you're fairly level-headed, and I trust that you won't pull a Solo on me and go dashing into danger, especially given the delicacy of galactic politics right now. That said, if you find her and she's about to do something drastic, I trust that you'll know whether to not to intervene. What we want most right now is information and understanding, not more death."

Zekk leaned back in his chair, looking almost disappointed. "What are we looking for?"

"Anything. Who she is, anyone she's working with, information about her past, or whatever else strikes you as being unusual. If possible, I'd prefer that you send reports back via Karrde's network every few days or so, but consider that a guideline. Obviously, it's not worth endangering the mission."

"So we're going to stalk a Sith, hope she doesn't see us, and try to avoid getting killed in the process," Zekk muttered, slouching further into his chair. "Is there anything else we should know first?"

Luke couldn't help but notice the irritated glace Lowbacca shot towards Zekk.

"Whatever you do," he said, "don't let her find out. Unless you have some extremely pressing reason to take action, I'd rather you lose her trail than tip her off that we know about her existence. As long as she doesn't know about us, we'll eventually be able to predict her. Once she finds out, she'll become unpredictable—and since Jag is gone at the moment, it makes the problem even worse."

Zekk snorted. "You've been talking too much to Fel," he said, standing up and stepping away from his chair.

[We will be careful,] Lowbacca growled with a disapproving glare at Zekk.

"But I don't know how much we can do about that," Zekk interrupted. "I've been having what would count as Force-visions, except without the visual component. It feels like…destiny—something that's meant to happen—but not so much universal danger, that's approaching. If it's connected to this mission—" Zekk's voice turned grave and his forcefully cheerful expression vanished for a moment. "If it's connected to this mission," he declared, "then someone is going to die."

Zekk turned and walked out of the room, leaving Lowbacca to shoot an apologetic glance at Luke and lumber out behind his friend.

Zekk's last statement worried Luke; it had been little more than gut instinct that had prompted him to pick Zekk and Lowbacca for the mission—gut instinct that could easily be influence by the Force. And yet, as he had thought about his choices, Luke had come to the increasing firm conviction that he was right.

Hearing the words "destiny" and "death" from Zekk in connection with a Force-user and a potential Sith could only make the situation worse. However, as long as Zekk didn't turn into a Darth Vader or Jacen Solo, Luke figured that he could handle the consequences.

He never even thought about how wrong he could be.

1 Will meet Jaina eventually


	9. Chapter 7: People of the Mist

**Chapter Seven: People of the Mist**

"…_Now our time has come to leave, keep the flame and still believe…  
Know that love will shine through darkness, one bright star to light the way…"_  
-"Mo Ghile Mear" by Celtic Woman

_Ben Skywalker's hut, Dagobah_

When he had first come here to stay, he had assumed that winter had long since come. It rained almost every day, the swamp gurgled, and any animals that made their way out of their nests only scampered around in the open for a moment. The air was frigid, but also filled with mist and fog that shrouded the landscape from view—not that there had ever been a landscape worth looking at. In fact, once the predators inhabiting the swamps had learned to stay away from him, the fog and mist had become almost welcome companions—ones who listened but never spoke back, and ones that could lull him to sleep even when he himself could not.

In the company of his silent friends, Ben Skywalker had built his refuge from a world: a place where he could bide his time until he was needed again. There, he remained veiled in both safety and secrecy, but hardly in peace of mind.

The hut he lived in, however, was not the same one that Yoda had built all those years ago; the remains of that dwelling lay a few paces away, having been reduced by nature to nothing more than some sticks and bits of wood.

When he had first moved in, exhausted from running and frustrated with his inability to act, it had been a welcome refuge in the swamp. He had piled a few things on the roof to block out the rain, wrapped himself in his cloak, and then spent an extraordinarily uncomfortable night attempting to sleep in Yoda's former bed. If he hadn't grown since he had been a baby, it might have been marginally comfortable. However, in the middle of the night, Ben had woken up with a blinding headache, only to realize that he had half-fallen off the bed so that his feet were still propped up on it while his head lay on the floor.

The next morning, he had begun some actual construction, looking as much for something to occupy his time and mind as for a livable home. It had only taken a few collapsed walls for him to realize that the structure simply wouldn't last—not only was it nearly impossible to expand, but time and decay had worn down what remained until it was barely usable.

As a result, he had moved himself a few steps away and constructed a hut of his own under the company of a pair of trees.

"Shavit!" Ben muttered as he jerked, the movement bringing him out of his drowsy state. Just a few hours before, he had finally managed to approach something resembling sleep by talking to the mist. Now, it seemed that sleep would be ethereal, unapproachable; his days were spent in a dreary state, to the point where no longer recognized the line between waking and dreaming.

Fully awakened at last by the sound of raised voices, he threw the blanket off himself and swung his legs to the floor. He sat up so that he could swivel his head and glance out of the door and into the mist, but did not stand up—several months here had brought him to enjoy the speed of life that plants existed with.

Unsurprisingly, he saw absolutely nothing unusual. If the voices had come at almost any hour of the day—even if in a nightmare—he would have been eternally grateful just to catch a glimpse of what he had left behind. To him, the material losses were inconsequential, but it was the loss of human company that Ben missed the most. The mist and fog might be his friends, but they could never satisfy his desire to hear another human voice.

In his first weeks there—as soon as he had built the hut—Ben had resigned himself to his memories, playing them over and over in his mind. At first, they had been vivid—so real that he could hear the voices speaking. Gradually, however, they had worn thin, and he had been left with nothing but faceless whispers. Sometimes, he wondered if, when he finally saw his friends again, they would recognize him. Or worse, whether he would remember who they were.

However, a pair of voices still argued loudly somewhere outside. The sounds echoed off the trees, shattering the fragile silence of dusk.

After a moment, Ben convinced himself that this wasn't simply another memory—the conversation was too strange for him to have already lived it.

"Remind me why we came here, again?" a voice grumbled, sounded both irritated and grouchy.

The voice itself was unfamiliar to Ben, and yet reminiscent—he was almost sure that he had heard parts of it before. That knowledge made him shiver—what if he really was losing his mind, his identity?

"Because you had to follow the family legacy and try and take on the galaxy," another voice replied, sounding happy to the point of exuberance.

Suddenly, Ben recognized that second voice: Wes Janson. Even if it meant that he would be having both a long night and a major headache, the knowledge that he could still remember _someone_ brought a smile to Ben's lips: his first real once since setting down on Dagobah.

The first person groaned, but Wes continued on, unabated.

"Because the Force told you so, because some person on the street put a blaster to your head and told you to, and because the Ewoks told you to and you listened." There was a pause, which Ben assumed meant a shrug. "It's your head. Do you expect me to understand it?"

"Shut up, Janson."

Ben allowed the smile to spread until it became a full-fledged grin. Admittedly, this hadn't been anywhere close to what he had hoped for by way of visitors but, after almost half a year, even Wes Janson could be a good thing.

Assured by Wes' tone that the person with his was friendly, if not a friend, Ben refrained from reaching out to the duo with the Force. Although he was fairly sure that the planet itself provided him some protection, it was still best to not take chances. Resigned to a long stay, he had since stripped off parts of his ship in order to build the hut and, if Darth Caedus sent soldiers after him, he would have nowhere near enough time to get his StealthX in working condition again.

"Yub yub, Yub," Wes sang. "Yub yub, Yub. Yub yub. Yub, yub yub."

"SHUT UP!"

"Yub," Wes continued.

"Janson!" the other voice yelled. "If you don't stop this right now, I'll make sure to mention to Master Skywalker that this was all your idea."

Ben released a breath of relief. The confirmation that his was father was still alive comforted him. While though he suspected that he would have been able to feel it if his father had died, there were no guarantees, especially since he had taken precautions to make his exile from the Force as absolute as possible. Then, after months of seeing no people, it wasn't even a stretch to image them all gone.

He had just started to stand up when a sudden, terrible silence set upon the swamp. Ben froze, hoping beyond hope that it had not been an illusion, that they were both still alive, that—he fell back onto the bed, weak with relief, as he realized the second man had simply found, for once, an effective way to keep Wes Janson silent.

However, his interest had been duly piqued. Who was the second person, and what were both of them doing here? More importantly, how was his father involved in all of that?

Ultimately, however, he could only wait for them to get to his hut. While his time there had taught him patience in some ways, it had also reinforced impatience in others. He had to wait, to bid his time until his return. However, as a result, anything he could do—anything worth doing—on Dagobah could be immediately done, with nothing to impede its progress. Long months of isolation had both taught him how to control his thoughts and shown him how little control he could actually exercise over them.

Silently berating himself, Ben stood up again and added some wood to the fire.

Coming to Dagobah had meant not only an exile from the Force, but also somewhat of an exile from technology. His father had assured him that the biological makeup of the trees blocked out scans, but Ben had taken no chances. His fighter, completely sealed off, had been sunk in a shallow patch of mud. Meanwhile, any technology that he had stripped off it was covered with layers of bark and leaves.

At first, his lightsaber had been the one luxury he allowed himself—the one item he kept on his belt at all times. Eventually, however, as his exodus from the Force taught him how much he had come to depend on its reassurance, his lightsaber, too, had been related to a corner of the shelf.

Consequently, fire had become his primary source of heat, and its dancing flames his liveliest companion.

By the time he turned back around to gaze through the doorway, Ben could make out the faint shapes of two people. He waited eagerly, despite himself, for the first glimpse of other people in almost half a year. However, as soon as the two came into view, Ben wished that they hadn't.

Wes Janson looked so bright that it hurt Ben's eyes. His hair was speckled with white, except that the white came in large patches, making Wes look fully absurd. His appearance was hardly helped by the garishly colored flightsuit—in the absence of belonging to a formal military unit, Wes had apparently taken the liberty to design his own flightsuit. It looked as if Wes had dyed into a fabric bin and pieced something together out of the scraps; in any case, the mix of neon blues, yellows, and pinks hurt Ben's eyes, and he doubted that anyone else would regard it more enthusiastically.

That also explained why the second man of the pair stared straight ahead, refusing to so much as glance at his companion. Ben took a moment to study him, wondering why the man looked so familiar. He was just barely above average height, muscular and broad-shouldered. A let of blond locks—combed neatly except for the indent made by a flight helmet—stood in sharp contrast to a pure black flightsuit. Calm blue eyes gazed out from a perfectly blank face—a face covered in faint scars that made the man look much older than Ben suspected he actually was.

"Wes," Ben said, suddenly tired as he realized that these two men were not his family—as grateful as he was to see an old friend alive, they were not the people he had longed to see safe at the end of the war. "I suppose you're the one that's making enough noise to keep me from sleeping?"

Wes grinned, standing to attention with his hand at his brow while bounding up and down on his heels. "Wes Janson, reporting for duty," he said, barely suppressing a laugh. "Mission Wake Ben accomplished."

It took all of two seconds for the combination of color and movement to wreak havoc on Ben's stomach.

"Then I'll just go back to sleep," he said, turning to head back into his hut.

While he heard the bouncing stop behind him, nobody tried to stop Ben's movement, so he made it so far as sitting down of his bead before Wes reappeared in his line of vision. Glancing to his left, he saw the stranger standing just inside the doorway, arms crossed and feet spread slightly apart.

"Wes," Ben said, turning his attention back to the man. "If you don't stop grinning right now, I'm going to throw you into the swamp."

The other man finally spoke up. "Please do," he said, in a slightly clipped voice that also bore traces of an Imperial accent.

Wes rounded on him, grabbing the man by the shoulders and shaking him. "But you're supposed to be helping me!" he wailed.

Despite himself, Ben burst out into a fit of laughter. The other man, whoever he was, had planted his feet down and was barely moving, while Wes had resumed jumping up and down in a maniac fashion.

"You're the one who told me that nonpermanent and not painful are two very different matters," the man remarked, sounding as if he found nothing remarkable in the situation. "I'm sure that any swamp much you should manage to get on your person—and on your ship, for that matter—would be nonpermanent. You can't really expect me to care whether the damage to your pride would be painful."

"But—" Wes started to protect.

"Also, you are being incredibly irritating right now, so I would hardly consider it a loss for Jedi Skywalker to temporarily get rid of you. In addition, that action would necessitate use of the Force, and he is here to hide from his cousin, Jedi Skywalker would have little choice but to come with us."

The man turned to him.

"I assume that you actually are Ben Skywalker," he said, sarcastically polite, "and that you're here to hide from Darth Caedus rather than taking the type of vacation only a Jedi would enjoy?"

Ben scowled. "You are?" he asked, feeling irked by the superiority and arrogance in the man's voice.

To Ben's surprise, Wes Janson shot a sharp glance at the stranger.

"My name," he said with a casual shrug, "is Yub Stimson."

Ben snorted, glancing towards Wes. "Yub?" he asked. "You do realize that you've managed to associate yourself with the one person who would make fun of your name?"

The words had popped out of Ben's mouth before he had a chance to think about them, but the coincidence hit him then. Both Yub and Wes looked slightly uncomfortable, and refused to looked at each other.

"So why are you here?" Ben asked, feeling his heart rate quicken. To him, their arrival meant a liberation from exile—a return of sorts. However, that it had happened this soon alarmed him; the war could not possibly be anywhere near to its conclusion.

"We're here," Yub began, after exchanging a glance with Wes, "because we need to kill Darth Caedus, and because you're going to help."

Ben stared at him, feeling his mind go utterly blank. Had Wes, after decades of trying, actually managed to drive somebody insane? "That's impossible!" he protested. "We've sent fully trained Jedi to fight him, and they've come back either injured or in pieces. What makes you think that he's not going to kill you on sight."

"Please," Yub said, soundly slightly bored. "I'm planning nothing of the sort. My job is to be able to get a team into Coruscant."

So much for his being able to leave Dagobah, then; Ben had no intention of accepting the mission.

Ben glared at him and Yub defiantly glared back. "If you want a Coruscant tour guide," he quipped, "I'm sure that there are plenty of travel agents willing to oblige."

Wes sighed and turned to Yub. "I told you he would be difficult," he whined. "And now he is being difficult."

Yub ignored him. "We don't want your help because you know Coruscant," he pressed. "We need your help because you know Darth Caedus."

Still sure that he wanted nothing to do with this mission, Ben ignored Yub's statement. "That still doesn't explain to me why you're not going to end up dead," he snapped.

Yub shrugged. "We have one asset that the Jedi do not," he said.

"What?" Ben demanded.

Looking much more tired than he had before, Yub let out a sigh. "Me."

At that moment, everything fell together in Ben's mind—the odd coincidence of 'Yub's name, the nervous expressions of the two before him, and the familiarity of the stranger's voice. "What's your real name?" he asked, more for confirmation than for anything else.

Yub let loose another sigh.

"My real name is Cem Fel."

* * *

_Royal Palace, Hapes_

The moment his ship set down, Darth Caedus dashed from the cockpit, not bothering to raise the landing ramp as he left the ship.

An infusion of Hapan flowers permeated the air while Caedus' footfalls struck the dry stone lining the paths of the royal gardens. As he ran past, the even rows of flowers looked like little more than streaks of color—lines of poppy yellow and dark plum intermingling with rosy pink and light olive.

Once he reached the entrance to the palace proper, two lines of guards faced him with backs upright and blank expressions. While all of them stared forward, their eyes remained fixed on some point on the horizon as if none some his approach—as if he was immaterial to them as Force-ghosts were to most of the population. However, as Duqat had promised, none tried to hinder him.

He found the sensation peculiarly disturbing—without realizing it before that moment, he had become so used to being noticed, to being important. Even when he reached the doors to Tenel Ka's inner sanctum, the gazes of the guards stayed on a distant point.

One of the guards took a step forward, shifting his position, and then reached out a hand. Caedus prepared to throw him aside with the Force—but the man's hand merely landed on the doorknob. The guard pulled the door open and stepped back to his original position. Caedus ran past without acknowledging the gesture.

He entered the suite. Even as Caedus felt the lingering of her presence in the walls and the floor, he knew with the instinctive connection of a parent with his daughter that Allana was no longer there. The slight sense of something that reminded him of her, although fresh, was already fading, and he did not bother to delude himself into believing that she had simply chosen that moment to run around the gardens.

While in his descent towards Hapes—moving far more quickly than his ship should have been able to handle—he'd caught brief flashes of her presence on planet. Now, he felt a quiet flicker in the Force and he turned around—

Tenel Ka stepped out from a doorway, wearing a Hapan dress that the Tenel Ka Caedus remembered never would have acquiesced to. As she moved, gauzy shimmersilk in a light brownish grey swirled around her figure. Even with her red hair, she was intransient, fleeting: a lady of the mist.

"Darth Caedus," she murmured, her lips barely moving. She did not quite look at his feet, but merely downwards, as if at the air.

His eyes flashed. "Where is Allana?" he demanded. Perhaps, if Tenel Ka was still there, then Allana might—

Her head raised up and her eyes stared at him for a moment. Nevertheless, there was something absent from them—something suggesting that she was instead staring through them. Then, she looked away, just a little bit to her left. "Safe," she breathed.

"Where?" Caedus yelled, taking a step forward.

"Safe," Tenel Ka repeated exactly as she had before. "Safe."

"Where did you send her to?" Caedus pulled out his lightsaber.

"Safe," Tenel Ka murmured for the fourth time, and her eyes flickered again to her left.

He snarled, thumbing on his lightsaber. "Tell me!" he demanded.

Tenel Ka shook her head, her eyes gliding to him without quite looking at him. Her brows knitted together, and she smiled a wistful smile.

However, the moment Caedus' lightsaber cut across her neck, both Tenel Ka and her smile disappeared.

Caedus stared at where she had stood sad and forlorn a moment before. He didn't notice turning off his crimson blade, but he did see his own hand reaching out in front of him. The closer his fingers reached to where she had stood, the more violently they trembled.

When he felt nothing but air where she had stood, he couldn't figure out if his feelings should be of relief or foreboding: relief, in that he had not actually killed Tenel Ka, but foreboding because he understood that he would be able to—that he would, in fact, have to do so at some point in the future.

What he had experienced was nothing more than a surge of emotion in the room. Caught up in his desperation to figure out where Allana had gone, he had not noticed, and his mind had assigned the feelings a voice—a familiar face.

_I'm sorry, my friend._

* * *

_Medward, Flareship_

She reached forward to brush a few strands of hair—hair that had, in the last month, grown longer than she had ever seen it on him—behind his ear. Jaina let her fingers linger against his forehead, her fingertips dragging against his skin. She needed the contact—needed the reassurance that Cilghal had been right, the reassurance that he was merely unconscious, not in a coma or some other indefinite state.

His mind felt very much the same as it always had, but also very much different. Gone was the almost childlike innocence—his belief that war could ever be permanently abolished. Instead, she meet cool walls. He was not calculating his own death as she had once done, but instead calculating how to live: how to _survive._

Jagged Fel was still very much there. She felt no smothering darkness or heavy fog wrapped around his thoughts. She simply waded through a list mist, the type of barely perceptible shrouding of thoughts that sleep often produced.

Reassured, she pulled her fingers back and wrapped her hands around his right one.

His eyes fluttered open.

Startled, she let go of his hand and jumped backward in her chair. Her back hit the edge of the chair and she stopped.

"What..." His words came out as a hoarse whisper.

Berating herself for not realizing that he was almost awake, she bit her lip. Had he felt her fingertips against his forehead, her hands grasping his?

"Does it affect the war now?" she snapped, using anger to disguise her burst of worry. As Jaina leaned forward, her hands dropped onto his shoulders like weights.

He blinked at her a few times, and she was close enough to see eyelashes move. "What…" he tried again. His voice sounded no better than it had previously.

Jaina snorted in frustration. Flinging her arm out to her side, she used the Force to pull a glass of water into her palm. Then she slapped the glass into his hand, ignoring the droplets of water that flew into the air.

He raised the glass to his lips and took slow, measured sips. Her gaze drifted to his throat as she watched him swallow each sip. Finally, he handed the empty glass back to her and she set it down.

"What are you talking about?"

Jaina glared at him. Her hands, which has since returned to his shoulders, clenched. "When we were talking before you left," she said, "you started talking about someone but wouldn't tell me who. When I asked you, you told me it wouldn't affect the war. So now I'm asking you again: does it affect the war now?"

She saw something flicker across his eyes.

"I think—I think it does." He sounded hesitant—even uncertain—of his answer.

"You think?" Jaina didn't try to hide her scorn. "You think? Sithspit Jag! I'm looking for answers here!"

He matched her heated stare with a colder one of his own. "I'm trying," he said. While his voice sounded perfectly calm, his shoulders tensed under her hands. "And I'm fairly sure that it does. I just can't pinpoint why, because I can't remember how I got here."

She took a deep breath. "What do you remember then?"

"I was—I know I was almost here, and then I remember making an emergency hyperspace jump. That's all." His eyes slid downwards to stare at his sheets, confirming her suspicions that he had left something out.

Jaina forced herself to stay calm. "I felt something happen from the Force," she said, removing her hands from his shoulders and crossing her arms. "I put together a search party, we set out, and whether it was Solo luck or the Force, you popped out of hyperspace where we were waiting."

Her words tumbled out one after another and she didn't dare look at him, once again afraid that he would issue a reprimand for her actions.

There was no response for a long moment.

Finally, his arm reached out, and she felt his fingers gently brush against hers.

"Thank you."

Jaina looked at him and nodded. Without it being said, she knew that he understood the risks of sending out those search parties, that he understood what the consequences could have been—could still become. And yet, once again, he did not disparage her choice.

She gazed into his eyes, picking out the darker flecks of green from the lighter ones. Unconsciously, she settled down onto the edge of his bed rather than the chair.

It was a moment very similar to one fourteen years ago, in a small conference room on Borleias after he had almost died. Yet, it was also very different. Because she longer needed to voice it, her confession of self-doubt had gone unsaid. Because their relationship could no longer be built on naivety and impossible dreams, this moment would not end in a kiss.

Jag's voice, frustrated and irritable, broke her absent gaze away from the contour of his lips. "I just wish I could remember," he said.

"You have a concussion," she whispered. Still caught up in her memory, Jaina reached out a hand to push another lock of black hair behind his right ear.

Although his posture tensed, he did not break their eye contact.

"I just feel that I've forgotten something important," he returned in the same tone.

She couldn't be sure if he was talking about his near-death or some part of their relationship. Jaina trailed her hand down to his right shoulder, squeezing it gently before bringing her hand back to her side. Whatever lingered between them—whatever would happen between them—was better left until they could meet on an even footing. It was better left until they could both be absolutely certain that this was where they belonged.

"What's bothering you?" His words, sharp and almost accusatory, broke her trance.

Echuta. She should have known that she would never be able to hide anything from him.

"Tell me." His voice, now soft and insistent, was even then not quite a demand.

If she had insisted, he might have left it alone. But, if she had insisted, he would have found out anyways.

"We—the search party—broke into two groups."

He immediately grasped the point. "Who are the ones missing?"

"Kyp, my parents, Tycho and Winter."

She could feel his eyes analyzing her, although he seemed to fading out just a bit. "Have you felt anything?"

Jaina shook her head. "No. They're alive, but just not quite…there. Like they're in hyperspace." Jaina bit her lip. "Except that they were closer—they should have gotten back at least a hour or two before I did."

Jag wrinkled his eyebrows at her. "How long have I been out?"

"Not too long, I think—maybe ten hours since we found you."

"If you haven't felt anything bad, they're probably fine." His hands sought our hers again and lightly squeezed.

She accepted the gesture, but then pulled away, not wanting to push too much at the bounds of their fragile friendship. "I just…" She smiled a bit sheepishly at him. "If I'm in hyperspace, I might miss something happening to them as long as they're still alive. I'll just feel better once I know for sure."

He returned the barest hint of a smile. However, she didn't miss the exhaustion tinting the edges of his expression.

"Should I…?" She nodded towards his forehead.

He returned a more gentle, almost reassuring smile. "Go ahead." This time, there was no edge in either his voice or his expression, as there had been before he had left.

She nodded again, and placed her open palm against his forehead. Using the Force, she sank into the edges of his mind and pulled him into a gentle slumber.

As he slipped away into the mists of sleep, she sat on the chair beside his bed, waiting for her friends and family to emerge from the blue-streaked mist of hyperspace.


	10. Interlude 1: Reflection

**Interlude One: Reflection**

Some say that water is the medium of truth. It does not judge, does not create. Instead, it reflects only and exactly all of what it sees.

In one of the Chiss worlds, at the very edge of the Unknown Regions, lies a small lagoon, the bottom deeper than many of the highest buildings in Coruscant. Due to its depth, it is a perfect shade of blue, its flaccid waters only undulating gently when the breeze chooses to come. The sapphire color yields an exactly mirror, although only one has been able to stare into its depths.

This lagoon is also the key to understanding the link between past and future.

A small clearing of grass lies around the lagoon, perfectly green. These blades are only ever trodden once a month, and by feet that leave but the barest impression.

Trees surround the entirety of the clearing—the same forest that covers half of the planet. In their millennia of growth, these trees have formed a thick canopy, so that the only rays of sunlight in the clearing fall onto the water, and are thus reflected.

In the day, the clearing is harmless, looking like nothing more than a tangle of bright green vines running over the grass. Purple flower buds grow here and there from a vine; while there is no pattern to their location, they appear uniformly throughout. They look innocuous, but with one exception: these flowers remain closed during the day.

In the moonlight, the wisteria petals—now spread wide—are reduced to dusky, shimmering grey. In the moonlight, the flowers become deadly: poison coasts the inside of the petals—a poison where even the smallest smudge or trace is enough to kill. This is a poison that corrodes any container it is placed in so that, although many have tried to gather it, only one has succeeded.

In the night, creeping vines quickly grow over any bodies, so that by daylight there is no trace remaining but for a raised bump in the vines. It is a method used by many tyrants: the bodies and the people they represent are never destroyed, but merely pushed out of sight until they are forgotten—pushed out of sight until memories of them fade away.

To the north, a small path guides the traveler towards a worn wood cottage—the dwelling of the Guardian. She who lives in that cottage never answers the door, and any who pass by scurry away before the moon can shine upon the flowers.

She exits only once a month to gather the poison from the flowers when it is at its most potent. Her bare feet tread softly down the path, making light noises when they hit the dirt path. Each time she reaches the end—the beginning of where the vines overgrow the path—she pauses to take a long look. These looks are all she has ever seen of the outside world, and all she will ever see.

Each time she comes out, the path is ever short—the domain of the flowers is growing. Eventually, they will overrun the path and the cottage, and she will die. She will die as she lived—alone in her cottage, neither known by nor knowing what happen away from her little world.

But, for now, she lives on, with no goal but knowledge.

She picks the flowers, choosing each one with care. To her, each flower represents a human life—every stem a family and every vine a planet. She works briskly, picking the flowers of all those who have died—the few flowers in the many who have lost their poison.

In order to ascertain which are safe, she drags the vine over to the lagoon. Rather than using her failing vision, she trusts the water to show her the truth—to reflect the vine back to her. In these cases, however, the flower never appears in the reflection at all.

Then, she turns her attention to the flowers of those who are soon to die. As with before, the lagoon reveals this to her; looking at the flower in its waters, the petals are wilting.

In one place, she spots a perfectly circular vine—a circle of friends. There are already many places scarred from when that circle was broken and pieced back together, with new additions pushing themselves sin each time. Seeing the flowers in the water, she moves her mind towards the future, keenly searching to see their fate.

Seconds later, she has returned to the present, and picks exactly two of those flowers with immunity. They sting her fingers, but the poison has already weakened—the effects, if any, will be slight. This time, however, she does not bother to place the broken pieces of the circle back together, for she knows that it will never heal. The ends will eventually close by themselves, but they will be forever scarred by the breaking.

As she casts a last look into the clearing, she can see five particularly extravagant flowers. They are the future—the stars with the potential to shape change, and the ones who are moving towards that potential rather than away. And yet, because the clearing cannot sustain such growth, she knows that only one will survive the battle, and she will have four more flowers to pick.

The beginnings and endings of these lives are woven into the fabric of green stems and blossoming petals.


	11. Chapter 8: Hunter and Prey

_Chapter Eight: Hunter and Prey_

"…_True visions carry signs to indicate their truthfulness. The first is that a person wakes quickly. Were he to stay asleep, the vision would weigh heavily upon him. Another sign is that the vision stays, with all its details impressed upon the memory…" –The Muqaddimah of Ibn Khaldun_

_Dagobah_

He could not possibly have done anything to deserve yet another one of Wes Janson's practical jokes.

"_Who are you?" a fifteen-year-old Ben asked._

_The guard blinked at him. "I am Stormtrooper number—"_

_Ben snorted. "A name, Commander."_

_The stormtrooper didn't react, although Ben suspected that the man was glaring at him. "Once again," the stormtrooper said stiffly, "I am Imperial Stormtrooper number thirty-sever, from the 501__st__ legion."_

Vader's Fist.

_Ben glared back, more annoyed than impressed—now that Vader was long dead, the name carried less weight than it once had. "I am currently in charge of collecting the names of all her for security purposes," he fibbed in his most formal tone. "And I'm sure that it would be better to finish before all the delegates arrive. A name."_

_He didn't even need the Force to feel the glare landing on him._

_However, the man also chuckled. "A name is unnecessary, Jedi Skywalker. I am certain that Imperial Intelligence would be happy to give you my military history in the name of cooperation, should you tell them my number."_

_If Ben had done that, he would have had to spend the next two weeks sorting through layers of fabrications and stretched truths. He shook his head; Ben needed a name, and the man clearly did not want to give it to him._

"_Commander, I am sure you are aware that Galactic Alliance Intelligence has files on all former stormtroopers in that legion—given your rank, I am certain that you would be among them."_

_The irritation he felt through the Force was replaced by amusement. "I am equally certain that you would not find my name among your files, Jedi Skywalker," the stormtrooper said. "Else, you would not be talking to me at this moment."_

_Ben rolled his eyes, not caring if the stormtrooper saw. "A name, and then you may return to your duty." He accompanied his words with a nudge in the Force._

_He could feel the stormtrooper's immediate smirk. Not for the first time, Ben felt the urge to simply pin the man against the wall and demand an answer with his lightsaber._

"_Then I would suggest that you return to your Intelligence files." While the man's voice was mild, Ben held no doubt that he was being mocked._

_Glancing down for a moment, in order to gain himself time to think, Ben saw that the upper edge of the man's right sock had just turned over slightly. On the inside, he could see a white thread running—a name undoubtedly added by some loving mother where it would not usually be visible to others._

Fel.

_While the first name was not visible, it hardly took Ben much thought to determine which of the Fel children stood in front of him. Davin and Cherith Fel were dead. He had already met Jagged Fel during the Yuuzhan Vong wars, and this was most assuredly not him. The voice was male—so not the Wynssa Fel that Jacen had mentioned years before._

_But that was all the Fel children, except—and then a conversation he had heard between his parents and Formbi leapt to mind._

Cem Fel.

_Ben glanced up, and smirked. "Thank you for your help, Commander," he said, and turned away._

Now_ he understood why Jacen had wanted the names of all the stormtroopers._

"Nice try, Janson," Ben said irritably, returning to the present. "Now tell me why I shouldn't throw you into the swamp right now."

Wes managed a confused look and, to his surprise, Ben sensed no duplicity from him, or even amusement.

"What are you talking about?" the pilot asked.

Ben sighed. "I've already met a Cem Fel, and It's not him." He pointed to the figure lurking just inside the doorway.

Yub—or Cem—wrinkled his brows for a moment. Then, something must have clicked into place, since Ben felt a burst of pure shock from him and the man collapsed onto the floor in a tumble of limbs. "No!" he gasped. "That's not possible."

Wes shot him a questioning look, but comprehension dawned. "Ah," he said, voice grim. "I should have known that your father would pull something like that."

Ben looked back and forth between the two of them, wishing that he could simply go to sleep and forget all this nonsense had ever happened. "What in Sith's name is going on?" he demanded.

"How much Corellian do you know?" Wes asked.

"My father is from Tatooine and my mother was from…somewhere. How much do you think I know?" Ben snapped. A wash of nostalgia brushed over him at the words.

Wes just looked at him.

"Fine," Ben said. "I've picked up some words—mostly how to swear—but I've never learned it properly. Why?"

Yub responded. "Do you know what the word 'Cem' means in Corellian?"

Ben shook his head.

"The word 'Cem,'" Yub said quietly, his voice still a bit shaky, "is a reasonably common first name both with the Chiss and on some of the planets in the Galactic Alliance. However, it is also the root form of the Corellian word for 'hidden' or 'cloaked.'"

Ben felt as if he had been subjected to a form of Han Solo logic—while the two men in front of him might expect him to understand perfectly, he did not by any means. "I still don't see what that has to do with anything," he insisted.

Wes answered after shooting several glances at Yub. "In this case," he explained, "it's not so much a name as a title."

Ben just looked at him, still uncomprehending.

Wes continued. "The name 'Cem Fel,' doesn't refer to a person—it refers to a deception."

"Which means?" Ben asked.

"It means," Yub murmured, "that there are two people using the same name—title, as Janson said. Simply because Cem Fel was the name I was given does not mean that there cannot be another one."

"Then who was the Cem Fel I met?" Ben demanded.

"It was the one male Fel child that you have yet to meet."

* * *

Aboard the Jedi ship _Phantom Star, _hyperspace

The uneasy, tingling feeling he had dealt with at the beginning of the mission had given way to open nerves. For some reason, Zekk's worries had intensified over three days of travel to the point where he could not dream without nightmares, could not stand without shaking, and could not act with the feeling taking over his mind. It was as if some unseen enemy was pushing fear into his thoughts except that his mind was becoming that enemy, and he could no more remove part of his consciousness from his brain than he could defeat Luke Skywalker in a duel.

He understood well that any such mission carried risks—this mission more so, perhaps, because Darth Caedus continued to hunt the Jedi. There was the risk that he might die, the risk that he might make a mistake that got Lowie killed, or the risk that he might betray the location of the secret Jedi base, whether by accident or under coercion.

Yet, while trailing an unknown—especially someone he suspected to be a Dark Jedi, if not a Sith Lord—he could all too easily change from hunter to prey.

Zekk shivered at the thought of having a pair of Sith Lords to deal with, but he used the Force to lock down his muscles—if he could prevent a full attack of shaking, all the better.

Incredibly, however, despite the frustration it caused him—he could no longer spar except with practice lightsabers for fear that he would cut his own arm off—the shaking was temporary, intransient, and it was not was truly bothered him.

That was left to the nightmares. Night after night, nap after nap, they came with increasing regularity. Jedi might not be supposed to dream, but he had long since learned that maintaining that level of control while asleep required more energy than he generally had before going to bed.

As they were extraordinarily vivid, he could not always distinguish between nightmare and reality; the nightmares blurred the line between what he feared was going to happen, and what his rational mind already understood to be the inevitable. His nightmares showed mass annihilation, while his mind spoke of death. His nightmares existed in a chasm of permanent darkness, while his mind glimpsed the occasional flickering of a candle's flame—in the rarest of instances, it might be blown out, but only because it would soon be replaced by another.

They haunted, chased—pursued—him with relentless abandon, turning him into the hunted without his own mind.

_Sitting of a chair of orange coral, he watched with a smug smile as Luke Skywalker battled a scarred Yuuzhan Vong warrior. The lightsaber and amphistaff clashing together time and time again, but neither gained enough momentum for a full win._

_Despite the amount of pain the chair conferred on his already battered body, Zekk forced his arms to lay languidly on the armrests of the throne, his posture straight and authoritative. He refused to stiffen in an effort to control the pain._

_The tip of Luke's lightsaber lightly brushed the Vong's armor, leaving an oozing gash that congealed itself into a dark scar. Had the Vong not flinched back just in time, it would have been his head lying on the ground. While he did not doubt the tactical wisdom of the Vong's maneuver, Zekk could not help the fury rising in his mind—if it even was his own mind. The warrior had chosen a sound method of fighting, but I was not the Vong way._

"_Brenzlit!" he heard himself cry. __"Do-ro'ik vong pratte!" _

_The warrior turned his head to glance at Zekk and the massive scarring on his features convalesced into a frown._

"_Jeedai dag lightsabers. Nikk sos nom!"_ The Jedi has a lightsaber. He is an enemy!

"_Nikk bele!" Zekk cut back sharply, allowing his anger to fill his voice. "Bruk tukken tiz!"_ I command you. Weaken him!

"_Tiu miz runim!"_ Give me a weapon!

"_Krel os'a hmi va ta! Birrar Ganner Rhysode!"_ Defiance in the face of overwhelming odds. Remember Ganner Rhysode!

"_Tiu miz runim," the warrior repeated. _

"_Dag hrosha-gul!"_ Accept the price of pain!

_Regardless of his frustration, the Zekk in the dream—the one in control of events—understood that the battle had to be won. He reached into his robed and pulled out a lightsaber._

"_Tchurokk!" he yelled, and tossed the lightsaber to the warrior._

_Although the real Zekk—the one watching the nightmare—attempted to stop his other self from aiding the Yuuzhan Vong, it was a futile fight. He might be able to sense the emotions and thoughts of the Zekk in the dream, but he was still and observer nevertheless._

The memory of being forced to stand there, watching the Vong prepare to cut down one of his oldest mentors while he could not change the outcome, was not even the most worrisome, despite his lurking suspicion that it was a vision, rather than a dream.

And then, on rare day after he had managed a full night's sleep, he could delegate the nightmare to the back of his brain and attribute it to the meanderings of a restless mind.

It was one of those days—a day where had had actually had a blissful, it short, sleep, and where he could imagine an end to the string of nightmares. Having retained enough energy to suppress the shaking for a time, Zekk had actually managed to make himself something by way of food rather than leaving the task to Lowie.

In his jubilation, he couldn't help and grin, and he barely noticed as he placed the food from the synth machine onto his plate and started walking towards one of the couched.

It only lasted until he saw the color of the meat he was carrying. The machine had tainted the steak a bright, startling crimson—both the crimson of fresh blood, and the crimson of the poisonous tarot flowers that he had avoided with care while on Ennth. Perhaps because he was still not fully rested, the color startled him more than it should have and the shaking began anew.

The plate slipped out of his hands and onto the floor with a deafening crash. The spasms and twitches of his muscles making it impossible to him to stay upright, Zekk toppled over as well. He might have felt the shards of plate under him, but he spilt food had already sent his mind spiraling back into the middle of another nightmare.

_He watched through a veil of tears as a young girl with green eyes and dark hair ran barefoot through the grass. His hands trembling, he frantically tried to blink away the tears before they clouded over his vision entirely._

_Even as the real Zekk tried to force this dream body to move, the Zekk in there was in such a state that he could not even do anything to stop the child's wails. The food and drinks spilled from the recent Force tantrum remained on the picnic blanket in front of him, although he had little inclination to pick them up._

_Eventually, he managed to stumble his way over to where the child lay, wrapping his arms around her as sobs wracked their entwined bodies. _

"_Mommy…" the girl sniffled._

"_I'm sorry, Lathara," Zekk heard himself saying. "She's gone."_

"_Do-ro'ik vong pratte!" he heard her mutter under her breath._

"_What?" Zekk exclaimed._

"_I miss her," Lathara muttered in a sullen tone, "and the Jedi were the ones to take her away."_

_Zekk's mouth dropped open, but he could think of no good way to handle that type of statement. As she was only a few years old, and had known nothing but his war, he could hardly blame her for needing a scapegoat. However, her muttering of revenge, as well the aura of darkness that seemed to shroud her for a moment, scared him._

_Seeing as two out of three of the Solo children had eventually inherited Darth Vader's legacy, even if one only for a short time, he had to wonder whether Lathara was destined to inherit his._

_Finally he responded to her first statement only. "I know, 'Thara. I miss her too, and it hurts to not be able to feel her."_

_Lathara looked up. "But I still can," she said._

_As she buried her head in his shoulder, he cursed the war for taking away yet another generation of innocents. Then, he cursed it for taking away his wife yet again—for luring her back to a place that she so often seemed unable to avoid._

It seemed that his dreams always cut off right before they lead him to the ultimate conclusions—before he knew whether Luke would win, or whether he found out who his wife in the dream was. He found it strange, however, that they had chosen him. He was neither a Skywalker nor a Solo, neither a fighter nor a pilot, neither a diplomat nor a politician. If it weren't for his long-time friendship with Jaina and Jacen, he would have found absolutely no reason that he should have even been pulled into the entire affair. No matter what, he had little intention of being locked into another prophecy.

[Zekk?] Lowbacca growled.

He caught a brief flash from one of his nightmares.

_A walking carpet of brown fur—a Wookiee's, most likely._

_A furious roar—a very familiar roar._

_A flash of scarlet across the darkness._

_A blur of colored light._

_And then nothing at all—just pure darkness, and the smell of singed fur._

Zekk opened his eyes.

[Are you alright?]

He blinked, and then closed his eyes again as the bright lights blinded him. Cautiously peeking out from between his eyelids, he caught sight of the brown-furred Wookiee standing over him. Looking past his friend, he saw the food synthesizer, as well as a pile of plates and trays—the kitchen.

"What?" he asked, still a bit dazed. The acrid smell of singed fur still haunted his nose, and his mind remained mired in the land of the mysterious and the unknown.

[Are you alright?] Lowbacca repeated.

"I guess," Zekk said slowly, his mind still lagging behind his senses.

At that moment, he finally felt the gelatinous substance underneath his head. He reached one of his hands beneath his hair and brought it back down in front of his face. The mixture coating his fingers was a disgusting blue-gray with a texture resembling oily grayweave.

Zekk groaned and sat up.

Lowie roared with laughter while Zekk glowered at him.

[Your hair is blue,] the Wookiee explained as he stretched out a furry hand.

_

* * *

Darth Caedus' Office, Coruscant_

Tahiri strode towards the door with even, measured steps. Although she could not feel his present through the Force, there was no doubt that he would be there; if he had personally summoned her, then something import was about to happen.

She opened the door into a room filled with inky darkness, and she could feel nothing inside save the furniture.

"Come in, my apprentice."

She entered, taking care to close the door behind her and thus shut off the last remaining source of light—the last time she had forgotten, it had taken days for the scares to fade.

"Master," she said, keeping her voice perfectly even. "You requested my presence?"

"I did. Sit." A strong Force-push shoved her into one of the chairs. "It is time for you to choose a name." She opened her mouth to object, but he continued on, regardless. "_A Sith name._"

Tahiri wrestled all ideas of disobedience into the back of her mind, even as she doubted that Caedus would pick up her specific thoughts—merely a feeling of unease. The combined personalities of Riina Kwaad and Tahiri Veila floating around her head would make guessing her actions nearly impossible, in any case; she found it odd how much the two personalities were now in conflict, taking into consideration the relative peace inside her head that had existed after the Yuuzhan Vong war.

"Yes, Master."

She heard a chuckle from somewhere in front of her. "And yet you are not ready," Darth Caedus said with amusement. "It is not important—you will be in time." The certainty in his words sent a quick thrill of panic through her. _Was she too destined to become the thing she was trying to destroy?_

"Is that what you wanted to talk to be me about?" She didn't bother to hide her wish to get out of that room.

"Oh no," Darth Caedus said dismissively. "That was but a minor detail. I called you here for a very different people." Although he paused, Tahiri caught the impression that it was merely for dramatic effect. "What are you opinions of the Yuuzhan Vong?" he asked.

"The Yuuzhan Vong are an honorable people!" Riina blurted out before Tahiri could stop it, and she immediately wished she could slap herself on the head for that verbal gaffe—Caedus' question puzzled her because she could see little reason for him to ask it.

"So you would support the Vong?" His voice had the innocently inquisitive air of a child that left her no doubt that this was a test—what exactly he was testing, she was unsure.

"Yuuzhan Vong, not Vong," Riina corrected immediately. Tahiri bit down hard on her tongue to prevent a further reply, and so that she could construct a more careful response. "The Yuuzhan Vong are a people bound by their culture and they will remain faithful to that culture, despite the differences between theirs and our own," she finally hedged.

"So you do support them," Caedus stated, his voice mild.

She grimaced and stomped down on Riina's reflexive response. "The Yuuzhan Vong are one of many species, and as long as there is no reason given me to treat them differently, I see no reason to do so," Tahiri said.

She could feel his anger crackling through the air.

"Incorrect!" Caedus boomed out, and then his voice quieted to a deceptively reasonable tone. "You are the gardener, and you will choose. You need only take that right."

Tahiri frowned. She had intention of 'taking that right,' as Caedus had stated it, because she simply did not feel that she had it—and because Riina was putting up a fierce argument. However, she merely replied "Yes, Master," in a docile tone.

"But you don't believe what I say," he continued on.

Tahiri couldn't the pang of anger stemming from her relentless helplessness. Riina itched to act—to defend the Yuuzhan Vong and, if need be, die for a glorious cause. However, Tahiri wanted to prevent her other self from doing anything even resembling stupid, and to buy herself enough time to enact her larger plan.

"Acceptance comes with time," she said, dipping her head.

"And yet a decision takes only a moment." His voice sounded deceptively soft and gentle. "And it is a decision that you must make."

Tahiri held her head up; if this was going to be the end, then so be it. She would _never_ give into him. "If it is a decision that I must make, then I choose not to decide." She was proud of the lack of weakness in her voice.

However, Caedus just laughed at yet. "That is what _you _desire," he said. "But what of the galaxy? What of the people out there that are waiting for your decision—waiting for you to make it?"

"Then they'll have to find somebody else."

An image of Leia Organa as she must have looked when standing before Darth Vader came into Tahiri's mind, and she promised herself that she would at least summon that strength, if not the poise and grace.

Caedus laughed. "You are determined, are you not? And yet it will hardly matter in time." She felt a gust of air across her face as his hand swept out in front of him. "The Force has far greater designs, and we are only a passing fancy."

Tahiri stiffed. Something about his tone of voice—the lackadaisical nature, or the purposeful lack of care—made it clear he was far from giving up.

His voice turned silky. "And now you have chosen," he said, "because by not choosing, you have allowed me to choose, and I choose death for the Vong. A pity perhaps, but they hardly deserve to live after what they have done."

No matter how hard she tried, Tahiri could not prevent Riina's reaction. She snarled and drew her lightsaber and she stepped in the direction of Caedus' voice. "The Yuuzhan Vong deserve as much to live as we do!"

"And it is your fault that they will die." This time, his voice dripped with malevolence and cold threat. She could no longer pinpoint the direction it had come from—the lightsaber should have illuminated his face, but he must have been dampening down on the light with the Force.

His voice returned to its silky smoothness. "You understand that, don't you? When you see the last of them die, you will know that it was all your fault, simply because you refused to decide."

She closed her eyes to fight down the wave of nausea at that thought. Tahiri felt herself agreeing with the voice—agreeing with the tale of misery and woe, with the fact that she could have ended all this if only she acted. After all, that was what being a Jedi was about, wasn't it?

"You know as well as I do that the Force will not forgive. _You_ will be the executioner when that last Vong dies. _You_ will be the one to draw the lightsaber across his neck—the one to watch the life leave his eyes."

She saw an image of a hunter chasing its prey, the two circling around each other in a slow dance as each waited for the other to move. Caedus' voice seem to be coming from farther away, and then closer, changing the direction that it had come from with abandon.

"_And it will be all your fault."_

The words ranger in her ears accompanied by images of fields covered with dead and dying Yuuzhan Vong—of soldiers throwing themselves into the endless chasm of the Force for the sake of honor, duty, and pride.

She shuddered, and then the hunter and the prey moved faster, tightening the circle around which they danced, until she could almost see the long, curved, teeth of whatever chased her.

"Do you enjoy watching those scenes of death, Tahiri?"

It had been so long since anybody had called her by that name—so long since anybody had thought her worthy enough to bear it. Riina might not object, but Tahiri certainly did.

"Do you enjoy watching others die for your mistakes?" His voice was soft—a gentle caress rubbing strong saltwater into her wounds. "Because that's all that ever happens, isn't it?"

The hunter moved in with a sudden leap towards her. All she caught was a flash of teeth and skin and glowing eyes before its jaws sank into her neck.

"That's what happened to Raynar. That's what happened to _Anakin."_

Tahiri let out a pained gasp.

Caedus ignored her and continued on, driving in his teeth and twisted them around to further enlarge the wound.

"_And you know it."_ He enunciated each word with perfection, and she could feel the hunter's breath in her years.

"No!" It was a half gasp, half sob choked with pain. "NO!"

"_And he knew it._"

She drew in a breath and held it, hoping to keep away the stench.

"Do you honestly expect a reunion with him after death?"

Having reached her heart, the teeth finally withdrew, leaving gaping holes behind them.

Whatever power that he been keeping her upright disappeared in that moment. Tahiri collapsed in a ball and he lightsaber dropped to the floor, extinguished.

The hunter came in for the final blow.

A flash of red lit up the room, and then Caedus' lightsaber was pressed against her neck. "So why do you do something with your life?" he asked, his face contorted with fury.

She flinched away in surprise, whirling her head towards where she could now see him.

"Because I choose!" Tahiri and Riina snarled in unison, and Tahiri's pale body flung itself out of the way of the lightsaber as she summoned her own back to her head.

Caedus deactivated his lightsaber and the room went dark again. "And what do you choose?" His voice rang out imbued with power and authority.

Tahiri activated her own lightsaber and held it before her. "I choose," she said firmly. "I choose to make the decision that has been given to me. I choose the Force I choose…"her voice faltered. "I choose," she began again, although with uncertainty in her voice. "I choose my destiny."

The import of her words washed over her and she swayed dangerously, the lightsaber she had waving back and forth in front of her. With a shriek of fury, Tahiri and Riina—now clear in their union—swung the lightsaber at Darth Caedus.

She saw him spin out of the way and activate his own lightsaber.

Their blades sung and locked together in a furious dance: flashes of red accompanied by occasional bursts of darkness. Although they might be standing bathed in blood-colored light, it was essentially the same situation as moments before, but with one exception—this time, _she _was the predator, and _he _was the prey.


	12. Chapter 9: Trapped by the Darkness

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been reading this story! Chapter 10 is fully written, and I hope to be able to post it soon.**

_Chapter Nine: Trapped by the Darkness_

"_You have the hands of a warrior…Take care that they do not become the hands of a man who revels in the carnage of war." -_Oromis to Eragon, _Brisingr_ by Christopher Paolini

_Darth Caedus' Office, Coruscant_

The two figures faced off over the glows of the two lightsabers locked between them. Hunter and prey stood still, each watching the other for a the slightest hint of movement—for a quick forewarning of attack. They searched not with their eyes, but with intuition born out of a lifetime of practice and discipline. The events that had placed them here had started years ago; no petty trick would end this fight.

Darth Caedus watched Tahiri as he waited patiently for a twitch or a slight movement. That was the one thing that none of the Jedi could rob him of: his patience, tempered only by a never-ending stream of Force visions that dictated his actions.

He suppressed his own feelings of oppression, of the sense that Tahiri understood exactly what was at stake. She turned off her lightsaber, and the glow of his own became the only thing preventing darkness from swirling around them—ironic, that he had now become the light source.

"Do you, my apprentice?" He kept his voice low and soft. "Is that what you really choose?" Caedus winced at the slight wavering of his voice on the last word—he must remain the hunter, remain in control if everything was to run smoothly.

She regarded him with thinly disguised amusement—even a little bit of scorn. Then, Tahiri smiled for a moment.

Was it the hunter revealing her teeth, or the prey insisting on making a last stand?

_Could Tahiri have known of the prophecy about her?_

He forced himself to discard the idea. The prophecy had come straight to him, and, to his knowledge, Tahiri had never accessed his inner thoughts. Caedus shuddered at the possibility. If she knew of her role in events to come—her role in bringing the Vong into this war—then she would be in position to ruin everything, and Caedus could feel perfectly well that she _would_ try to ruin everything he had worked for if she understood his manipulations. Or, at least, Riina would.

"I do." Her voice neither wavered nor showed any sense of uncertainty. "And you know that, don't you?"

He mused, rather absently, that that was exactly what made Tahiri so hard to turn: Riina. If Tahiri had any other part to play in this war, then he understood exactly where he had to strike and sink his teeth in. But, with Riina still forever a part of the Vong…

Tahiri laughed, and ringing sounded filled his ears and worked its way into his mind until Caedus could no longer focus on anything else.

Blood pounded in his ears, and rage consumed him until his head gradually cleared. She was laughing—laughing!—at everything he had tried to accomplish over the last months, at everything he had sacrificed to bring the galaxy to this moment. Then, he knew only that Tahiri _had_ to understand—had to be made to understand.

_There would be many more sacrifices to be made on his part._

While his mind remained mired in the sluggish haze of laughter, and before he regained full control over himself, Caedus watched with semi-detachment as lightning bolts shot out from his suddenly outstretched hands. Tahiri batted away the stream from his left hand with her lightsaber, but the bolts from his right hand hit her full in the chest.

She slammed into the wall with a muffled thump. Even as her body hit the cold durasteel, he could still see the smile lurking on her face, and feel her satisfaction in provoking a reaction out of him.

Caedus did not move towards her to deliver the killing blow. Instead, he stood perfectly still, staring at that frozen smile on her face while forcing his brain to calm. Once he could recall his original purpose, he began walking at a slow, measured pace towards her.

He could feel her summon her lightsaber—could, in fact, feel her summon his as well—but did not break his stride.

_His next sacrifice would be himself._

When he stood just beyond lightsaber range of her body, she jerked upright and flung herself into a standing position as her red lightsaber moved in a wild sweep. He saw his own lightsaber, of course, hanging off her belt. Nevertheless, Caedus reached down to his belt, pretending that he hadn't noticed.

He might be the master of events today, but Tahiri did not need to know that.

She was here not to defend, or even to avenge, but to _kill_, and, this one time, he let that instinct go unhindered.

The lightsaber descended towards him. He watched it in a tired daze, twisting away only as he began to feel the heat from the blade through his robes.

The pain was real.

The lightsaber cut through flesh with a gentle hiss and he collapsed onto the floor with an anguished yell. Clutching the stump of his left arm, Caedus let out a feral scream as wave after wave of pain crashed onto his brain, threatening to tear away his concentration like ocean waves tearing life forms away from the rocks they clung to. He tried to use the lessons he had learned from Vergere and the Vong—to become the master of pain—but it had been too long since he last tried. Besides, Jacen Solo had been the one to learn those lessons, not Darth Caedus.

Even so, his anger far surpassed his pain. No matter his ability to accept the sacrifices wrought on him, no matter the amount of time had had to prepare, Caedus could not avoid a simply truth: he was not ready to die. _Not even if that was what was required to bring peace to the galaxy._

Caedus propped himself up, With his vision swimming, he stretched out his good hand and sent a stream of lightning racing towards Tahiri. As the arcs of angry light refracted off his tears, he saw malevolent rainbows sweeping across the room. The power—the subtlety—of that light entranced him, held him captive even as it drained him of whatever energy he had left.

Tahiri did not raise her lightsaber up for a block. Instead, he caught sight of two pale smudges extend themselves to intercept the lightning—two smudges bright against Tahiri's dark robes.

Caedus blinked in surprise, realizing only a moment later that she had intercepted the Force-lightning with her bare hands. This was one of the tricks that he had never taught her, one of the ones that he had reserved for his own arsenal.

It left him with only one conclusion: Tahiri had another Master.

Caedus was no longer in control of her learning. Whether an old holocron, or whether another hidden Jedi or the Force, something had usurped him: something had torn Tahiri away from his just as he had begun to sink his claws in.

He screamed, because he could feel her mind shying away from the Sith—away from him! Everything—his months of teaching, his months of deception, _his arm_—had been for naught.

The hunted had escaped his grasp, and now she had come to turn the tables.

He cut off the lightning since it had no visible effect on her. However, the moment Caedus stopped drawing on the Force, any remaining vitality deserted him. He slumped onto the floor, eyes closed with exhaustion.

He heard the hiss of a lightsaber reigniting, and the black he saw through closed eyes sudden stained red. Caedus tried to raise his torso off the floor, but an iron clamp of Force-energy chained him to the ground.

If, perhaps, he could convince her to go to Zonoma Sekot despite everything else…if, perhaps, he could nudge her towards the shred of destiny her had foreseen…then she might serve her purpose nevertheless.

Caedus laughed and, once started, he could no longer stop himself. "How?"

Tahiri laughed at him. "You taught me how," she said, her face oddly blank.

He blinked and focused in on her words, using them to bring his mind back into a coherent state. "Don't deceive yourself," he scoffed. "I've taught you nothing compared to what I know."

"You taught me all I needed for today. _You taught me how to kill._"

Opening his eyes, he found no surprise in seeing Tahiri's lightsaber hovering just above his throat. "Kill me then, Tahiri." His voice came out bitter, angry and full of hatred.

The pain was gone, replaced by pure exhaustion. Caedus knew, in this moment, that his life had already passed beyond his hands. He had squandered precious years—precious moments—searching for how to preserve it, but his time of reckoning had come.

"_You_ turned me into a killer," Tahiri continued, tears running down her face. "It's too bad that you're not the one I'm supposed to kill."

Caedus gaped at her.

"I have a mission to go on," she said abruptly. Tahiri whirled and left, taking both lightsabers with her. The door slammed shut.

For the first time in many months, Darth Caedus felt trapped by the darkness.

* * *

_Hidden Prison, Corellia_

Davin Fel thumbed on his commlink and brought it up to his face. "In position, father," he said, raising his cheek a few inches above the duracrete in order to speak.

His father's voice crackled out, distorted by the multiple transfers the signal must have taken to get to Davin from Chiss space. "You know I do not agree with this."

Davin let out an agitated hiss.

Located just outside Coronet City, the prison he was watching sat right in the middle of a clearing; in order to avoid being spotted by a casual glance, Davin currently lay on his stomach a yard or two outside the first set of perimeter sensors.

However, the indigo tones of nightfall had barely started to give way to inky darkness. In a few minutes, dressed all in black, he would be nothing but a wraith. If the prison security systems picked out the noise from the conversation now, though, his hands—he had taken off his black gloved to operate the commlink—would stand out as bright smudges against the ground. _And he did not feel like having to stage a prison break._

"I know," he said stiffly, keeping his voice to a shallow whisper. "But if we can do this, it will give us enough leverage to speed up the war."

"It is not a necessary risk!" Soontir snapped, voice rising.

Davin cut him off before his father accidently let a name slip. "We've already had this discussion, father," he said irritably.

"It is not worth your life!" Soontir continued.

"And the others?" Davin scowled. "Were they necessary risks?"

By "others," he meant his siblings—Cherith dead, Jag in hiding, and the original Cem hidden… somewhere.

"Son…"

"_Was this effort worth their lives?"_ Davin demanded.

Soontir's sharp intake of breath let him know that his point had been made.

He _wanted_ to ask his father whether the war was really worth having his family scattered across the galaxy—having them on opposite sides of the war. He wanted to ask whether power was worth having to know that there would come a day when he would be sighting his own siblings along the end of his blaster, or whether it was worth his mother already grieving for children not yet lost.

He wanted to press his father—to get answers, for once. He wanted to _know._

"I will not believe that you held their lives expendable," Davin hissed, now furious. "_Never._"

"I did not…"

Davin did not want to hear another line of excuses, another series of facts constructed only to force him to remain where he was. "So if you did not stop them," he interrupted, "let me do this."

"Do not get caught," Soontir said curtly. The loss of static told Davin that his father had ended the conversation.

No matter what his father had said, however, Davin somehow doubted that he would have been able to pull away from this mission. What it represented still held too much power over him; it was a way to end this war, this madness.

Sometime, in the interim, the cost had almost stopped mattering.

The Chiss had a policy against pre-emptive strikes, so he had become an Imperial. His relationship with Aula had begun to threaten his pure dedication to his family—to his father—so he had been removed from that as well.

Firstborn of his family, he flitted on the verges of darkness, becoming whatever his father needed for his machinations.

He stood trapped by the incoming of eternal night, knowing that he had been one of the ones pushing the sun until it rested far below the horizon. But, with his mother hidden—safe, secure, and forever used as an unspoken point of leverage—behind Chiss lines, he could never break away.

With a sigh, Davin wiggled his commlink back in his belt and lowered his check to the ground. Picking up the black flight gloves that he had taken off earlier, he slipped them on and flexed his fingers to check that each one was in position.

Then, he waited for pure night to come.

* * *

_Dagobah_

Ben squinted at the both of them. "I've met all of them," he said slowly, looking back and forth from Yub to Wes as if they were playing a horrible joke.

Wes rolled his eyes. "Stop being idiotic. _Think._"

"I've already met both of them," Ben said.

"But there is a third," Yub murmured, staring into the flames. He had yet to look at either of them since his realization—instead, he remained propped against the wall with brows knitted as the movements of his eyes replayed some scene in his mind.

Something that his father had mentioned once, a long time ago, unfurled itself at the edges of Ben's memory. "Didn't your parents have another son?" he asked Yub. "The one that my parents met?"

"Chak," Yub said after a blink of hesitation. "I assume that you mean him, although I would not know if he had ever met your parents."

Ben sharpened his focus at Yub's tone. Something danced at its edges—something intangible, suppressed: something threatening to take over. There was discomfort, certainly—Ben could have anticipated that—but also just a bit of defensiveness surrounding the response.

"But Chak is most certainly dead," Yub continued, toneless.

To Ben, Yub's voice sounded as dead—devoid of emotion, of feeling—as Chak Fel supposedly was. Somewhere buried in what he had known of his brother, in some memory, was something that Yub did not want to say—perhaps did not want to remember.

Ben probed a little despite Yub's obvious reluctance. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Just one word dropped into the silence. "Yes."

"Yub…" Wes whined. "That's not helpful."

"It was not meant to be!" Yub snapped, standing up.

What could have rattled Yub—rattled his family—so much that he could barely even think about his brother, barely remember that his brother existed? What secrets lay behind the serene portrait of a family shown to the outside world? Driven by investigator's instincts, and by a little nagging through that he should perhaps find out, Ben refused to let the matter go.

"Why don't you want to remember him?" He softened his voice. "He was your brother."

Yub sighed and straightened his posture even though his gaze remained at his hands. "Chak was somewhat more…idealistic than the rest of us," he relented.

Ben caught a flash of wistfulness in the tone before bitterness crept in.

"Unlike Jag, he did not have the discretion to keep his idealism a secret." Yub let out a short, sharp laugh. "Chak died for that."

However, despite having given a response, Yub still refused to meet Ben's gaze.

Wes looked warily at Ben for a moment, but when Ben remained silent, he spoke. "Then which brother did Ben run into?"

Yub finally looked up. His hands stopped twisting together and, for once, he looked relieved. "Davin."

"Davin Fel?" Ben blinked. "But he's dead too, isn't he?"

As Ben said the word "too," Yub flinched.

"Sorry," Ben muttered, realizing the callousness of his own tone.

"I had thought so," Yub said absently. "But if you have meet another Fel…" His voice trailed off for a moment. "I have no more brothers."

"Are you sure?" Wes interrupted, looking at Ben. "Could it have been an imposter?"

Ben stopped to really consider the question.

He had assumed, because of the subtlety of the clue that had led him to the conclusion ,that the stormtrooper was indeed a Fel. Now that he had stopped to think about it, though, the idea of the sock as a plant was not impossible. But, if they had really wanted him to discover the stormtroopers identity, the idea of a sock seam felt a bit…farfetched.

"Yes," he said. "I'm sure."

Yub shrugged, sending a gust of wind through the doorway and towards the fire. The shadows of the flames danced over the walls for a few seconds.

"It hardly matters," he said, his voice a little bitter.

Ben started, jerking away from staring at the walls, and stared at him. "But he's your brother!"

Yub simply snorted. "Oh, I suppose it matters to me," he said without any real conviction. "But as far as I'm concerned, the real Davin Fel has been dead for eighteen years."

"And if he isn't?" Once again, something in Yub's voice felt reserved, and Ben couldn't help but push a little bit.

Yub shot him a short glare and refused to answer.

"Fine," Ben muttered.

"Either way, the thought is worry," Yub mused. "It makes matters much more…complicated, if someone has planned that entire charade." He glanced at Wes with an uneasy expression.

"Well?" Ben demanded.

Yub glanced at Wes again. "It makes me think that I—we—should go take a look through the Imperial records."

"But Coruscant…" Wes started to protest.

"Coruscant can wait," Yub said shortly. "If there's another Davin Fel out there—if there's actually another Fel, or just a Fel imposter—then the last thing we need is him turning up as a hostage, especially when we finally reach Coruscant."

"Darth Caedus is a more immediate problem," Wes argued.

Yub shrugged. "He's not going to disappear. We can deal with him afterwards."

Ben found himself wondering just a little bit why Yub was even fighting in this war. At first, the man had seemed determined to get to Coruscant despite the dangers. Now, he had pulled an abrupt turn and, no matter how much he kept saying that he didn't care for his two dead brothers, he still wanted to find an answer."

"Why do you want to know?" Ben asked.

Yub's head snapped around to face him.

"You've already told us that it doesn't matter to you," Ben continued. "So who does it matter to?"

Yub flinched.

"Who?" Wes cackled merrily. "Who? Tell me or else I won't go," he sang.

"Davin proposed before he died," Yub said heavily. "We promised to find out the truth. That promise transcends anything I need to do in regards to Darth Caedus."


	13. Chapter 10: ForgetMeNot

**A/N: ****After a _long_ hiatus, I've realized that I have too many idea bouncing around in my head to leave _The Face of Warrior _incomplete, so I've started writing this story again. On top of all my other work, it'll be slow going, but I'm determined to finish it this time around. I'm hoping to get a chapter up about every 2-3 weeks; the next chapter is about a quarter written. **

**(This chapter was actually posted over at TFN before I went on hiatus, and I just realized that I forgot to post it here as well.)**

**~NS**

**Chapter Ten: Forget-Me-Not**

"…_the easiest thing in the world was to lose touch with someone…" –Factory Girls_ by Leslie T. Chang

Solo quarters, Flareship

"You wanted to see me?" Luke poked his head in through the doorway. Before him, Han and Leia sat pressed together on the couch with Jaina haphazardly sprawled on an armchair.

Han lifted his left hand a fraction from where it lay on the couch against Leia's shoulders and waved Luke in. "All the kids are nice and quiet here and it's about time for me to blast off, but the Princess"—he shot a half-irritated look at Leia—"thought we should talk with your first."

Luke snorted at he settled down onto the couch across from them. "Blasted off _again,_ you mean," he said mildly. "Since I don't remember being forewarned about the last time." Unfortunately , the edge of bitterness and hurt in his voice blocked the sentence from simply being a mild jest.

Luke swiveled his head to look at Jaina for a moment, but she returned it with an even gaze.

"It was necessary," she muttered. "And we came back."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about Jaina—not that I don't want Flareship to serve as a safe harbor to us all, but you could have easily jeopardized…"

"I'd do it again," Jaina interrupted.

Luke bit back a smile. "Think about Flareship and the padawans," he urged.

Jaina glared. "Then you think about Jag! Because the way you're talking, we're just going to let them pick off people one by one until we don't have anyone left." She didn't bother to specify who she meant by "them," and, in many ways, it hardly mattered.

"We can't afford," Luke began weakly.

"Really?" she demanded. "Because from what I remember, you were the last one to want to leave for Flareship in the first place!" Jaina stood up with clenched fists. "What changed?"

"We'll talk about this _later_, Jaina," Luke said firmly.

Jaina's eyes flashed and she took a furious step forward.

"When Jag can join us," Luke added hastily, seeing no signs of her backing down.

He heard her let out a disgusted snort. "So you're going to drag him into this too?"

"Jaina—"

"Don't!" she snapped. "He almost died and you're not going to go and blame him for this!"

"_Jaina!_"

She ignored him. "Now I'm going to talk to him _before_ you start planting guilt into his head!"

"I'm not…"

The door slammed behind her.

Han let out a pent-up breath and leant forward, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. After downing it all, he said, "You really shouldn't have don't that."

"It's just…" Luke could no long find a way to voice his frustration without it coming out as either petty or trite.

"She's right, you know?"

Luke turned to look at Han in surprise.

"You're trying too hard to keep everyone safe that people are slipping through the cracks. And not everyone wants to be kept safe here."

Luke looked up, startled.

"Not that," Han said impatiently. "She wants to fight this war, Luke. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

"She _will_ be fighting this war," Luke insisted.

Han scoffed. "What? In twenty years? She wants to be out there _now_."

Luke winced. "I—I guess I assume that it was just restlessness. She was one of the first ones in support of Flareship."

"Because Flareship was supposed to be a safe haven for the padawans." Han rolled his eyes. "But once we got here, neither you nor the Council would give support for anyone leaving except when you were the ones choosing their missions."

"Jaina never wanted a permanent exile," Leia murmured. "She just wanted to make sure the padawans were safe before she got embroiled in the war again."

Luke nodded mutely.

"You're blinded by the memories of a different war," Leia said gently. "As are we." She motioned to herself and Han. "But this isn't a case of the Rebel Alliance versus Palpatine's Empire. It's still too short of a time for people to forget what the galaxy was like before Caedus, and _we need to take advantage of that_."

Luke fought back a grimace at the politics he could hear underlying her words.

"In the end, Jaina's doing the same thing we were back then," she continued. "You can punish her for her actions, but it's not fair to reprimand her because she did what she thought was right."

Still, with something intransient nagging at the corner of his mind—a little pessimistic voice that refused to desert him—he couldn't quite bring himself to agree.

"It's…" he tried again, and trailed off.

"You sent Zekk and the walking carpet out," Han muttered under his breath.

Leia elbowed him. "Luke, listen to me." She leaned forward, eyes boring into his. "If we sit here and wait forever—if we sit here and wait for another New Rebellion, another war—then we've already lost. When we come back, all everyone will remember are the people that deserted them when they could have stood, fled where they should have fought."

Luke broke the gaze and sank back into the couch. "You're saying that we have to reenter the war _now,_" he said.

"Not now." Leia shook her head. "You'll need time to plan. But soon."

Luke nodded wearily. "Soon," he repeated, resigned.

He felt grateful, almost guiltily so, that neither Leia nor Han had mentioned the Jedi who had stayed behind—his son among them—and who, left in the midst of the raging fury, would have neither friends nor harbor unless the Jedi returned.

He just sighed. "I'll talk to Jaina later about it," he promised, and then switched gears. "Was there anything particular you wanted to ask me before you left? I can't keep you here, of course, you're not going to be able to come back unless it's an absolute emergency. But then," he added, "I suppose it won't matter anyways if we're going to reenter the war."

Han shrugged, but stopped mid-motion when Leia elbowed him again in the stomach.

"We're not abandoning the children, Luke," she said, her voice gentle.

Luke felt momentarily abashed. "That's not what I—"

"You were thinking it," Han muttered.

"I know." She placed a hand on Luke's forearm. "But you'd still rather have us here."

Luke offered up an uncomfortable smile. "I'll admit that, yes," he said, a bit rueful. "The more firepower we have, the better off we'll be if we get discovered."

"Well," Han drawled, "we sure know that someone _else_ has a lot more Sithing firepower than we do, since Fel managed to get himself blown up."

"_We're already in this war,_" Leia said, her words urgent. _"Even if we don't leave here"_—she winced—_"then Darth Caedus will still come looking._ We need to be out there _now_, doing something to keep that from happening If they find us, then we'll already have lost. The _Falcon_ might be able to save a few lives at that battle, but it can't save the Jedi. Not the way you want it to."

For a moment Luke caught sight of a lightsaber plunging into a bleeding heart—the sword headed straight for the heart of the Jedi. It might have been a possible future, except that lightsabers cauterized what flesh they touched.

"Luke?"

He turned to meet his sister's searching gaze. "What?"

"What aren't you telling us? I can see you're worried about something, but I'd like to know why."

"I don't just want to say that this mission is dangerous, because everything now is dangerous..." Luke paused. "…so much as unusually risky."

Han nodded. "We've seen our cards and we don't like them, but we're raising the stakes because we can't fold."

Luke shrugged. "Like I said, I can't stop you. "He looked back and forth between the two for a moment. "You'll take 3PO?"

Leia grabbed Han's shoulder because he could voice the objections Luke could already imagine coming out of his mouth. "We'll take him," she said, dragged her husband off the couch with a sigh. They headed towards the door with Luke trailing behind.

"You're leaving now?" he asked as the pair stopped in the doorway.

Letting go of Han's arm, Leia stepped forward and pulled Luke into a hug. "There's not much point in delaying," she murmured. "We'll say goodbye to Jaina—maybe a few more people—and then leave."

With a quick slap on the back to Luke, Han stepped outside as well.

"We'll remember you," Luke said, meaning it as a joke.

"I hope that we see you again before that becomes necessary," Han responded dryly.

* * *

Aboard the _Lost Hunter, _hyperspace

_Who am I?_

Ever since she had walked out of the confrontation with Darth Caedus, the question had been bouncing around in her head, crashing into her other thoughts and sending them to the floor in pieces.

_Who am I?_

Tahiri reached into a worn pouch and slipped out a villip—one of the few remnants of a war that, while being no less destructive, had been, in a way, much kinder.

_Who am I?_

Riina raised an immediate answer to the question. However, Tahiri squashed it down again. Turning the villip over and over, she brushed a fingers over the folds and creases, taking care not to touch the stoma, which would activate the thing.

In the ten years since she had taken it from Zonoma Sekot, it had rested in the fading pouch. She had never activated it—had in fact, furiously curbed the impulse during the Killik War—but it had stayed with her throughout.

Tahiri set the villip on the table and reached back into her pouch. Her fingers made contact with two shapes: the first with groves, and the second a perfectly smooth cylinder of metal. Pulling out the latter, she activated her lightsaber and hovered it about the inert lump of the villip. However, as the head of the blade moved towards the object, which almost seemed to shrink away in reaction, she could not bring herself to complete the motion.

She could barely keep the slick metal from sliding past her fingers, and the grip was just a little too big for her hand.

_If I am a Sith, then I do not belong to Darth Caedus'_ _reign._

She had gone into the verbal and psychological sparring match with Caedus knowing that she was not a part of the Sith he had chosen. At first, she had wanted to destroy him; then, in the moment that her blade severed his arm, she had been afraid that, like Jacen Solo, she too would fall.

She could see her own reflection framed by a red glow in the transparisteel. Her expression was a little fierce, a little frightened, and a little sad, but she mostly just felt _tired_.

Looking back, Tahiri could barely remember who she had been thirteen years ago. She had her memories, but her understanding of herself had been overwritten so many times that the original essence wore thin. She _knew_ who she had been, but she could no longer _imagine_.

Tahiri whirled around the face the empty cockpit and moved forward so that her lightsaber came down in a slash with every step. Then, she tucked her arms against her side and lowered her shoulders until the lightsaber rested in a defensive block.

Neither of the positions felt right. Each in their own way, they were simple, familiar, and utterly safe, but not quite _fitting_. Rather than acting as a comfortable extension of her arm, the lightsaber rested in an awkward grip, like an ungainly bird trying to flee her grasp.

Her hands and the lightsaber wavered, so she sank back into the chair and switched the lightsaber off.

Putting that one aside, she reached into the pouch once more and brought out the lightsaber she had passed over earlier. She held it up, studying it as she had the villip a few moments before.

This was her own lightsaber—the one she had hidden before going to Caedus. This was the lightsaber she had fought, defended, and killed with, but it was not _hers_—not if she had sacrificed so much to hide it from Caedus. Not if she had sacrificed so much to hide it from _herself._

_If I am a Jedi, then I am not a part of Luke Skywalker's Order._

_That_ lightsaber belonged to a younger Tahiri—to a Tahiri who had not met Riina, and to a Tahiri who had never lost Anakin. The grooves were now too small for her fingers, and her fingertips too scarred for to fit smoothly against the curves of metal.

In various ways, she had been first Tahiri Veila, then Tahiri Solo, Riina Kwaad, and finally Darth Tahiri, but it had been that last confrontation which had helped her choose.

She had not known herself; for the last time, Darth Caedus had taught her what mattered.

_If I am nothing else, I am a Yuuzhan Vong._

_

* * *

_

_Bastion, Imperial Remnant_

"We're here to see all Imperial stormtrooper records for the 501st legion from the last ten years."

"Uh…right." The receptionist, a human female in her early twenties, winked at Ben—now black-haired and green-eyed. "May I…uh…see your authorization?"

"We were sent by General"—Yub stepped sideways to dig his heel into Wes' toe. Right on cue for once, Wes burst into a spate of coughing to cover the fact that they did not actually have a name for the "General."

"I'm sorry?" she asked, still looking at Ben. She leaned towards him and blinked, fluttering her eyelashes as her eyelids opened. "And which general would that be?"

Ben glared at her.

"You know," Yub said, leaning in. As her eyes flickered towards him for a moment, he caught sight of Ben's slight hand motion. "_The General._"

"The General," she repeated blankly, seeming unsure of whether to divert her attention to the clearly-in-charge Yub or the still-glaring Ben. "Uh…right. The General," she said again, her voice lacking any comprehension. "I'll…uh…need to confirm that."

"Is it really necessary to wake up the general?" Wes asked, speaking for the first time. "I'm sure he's sleeping right now."

The receptionist blinked at him. "But…uh…protocol…" she stammered, looking at Ben as if hoping that he would finally help her out.

"Now," Wes said, his voice unnaturally smooth and almost resembling Han Solo's, "you really don't need to ask my friend Bobo here." He clapped Ben on the shoulder.

Yub bit back a short laugh when he could feel the palpable irritation wafting off Ben, whose glare only intensified.

"But you should call him sir," Wes continued, seeming to take no notice of Ben's reaction. He leaned forward as if part of a conspiracy. "He can get rather grumpy if you don't."

"Right." She looked between the three of them one more time, clearly bewildered. "I mean…the protocol, _sir_." She took a deep breath.

"That will not be necessary," Ben snapped, still glaring. "We will be quick."

She flushed and her eyes darted around the spaces. "Well…alright," she said, a little uncertain. "If you have the authorization, I suppose it won't be necessary to wake up the General."

Yub nodded and slipped through the doorway she motion to. Wes and Ben followed silently behind him; however, as soon as the door closed, Ben let loose.

"Bobo?" He glared at Wes. "What in the galaxy were you thinking?"

Wes shrugged. "It starts with the right first letter." He grinned.

"Why were you glaring at her like that?" Yub asked, turning to Ben.

"I would have asked her out for a drink," Wes interposed. Both Yub and Ben turned to glare at him now.

"Be glad I didn't," Ben muttered, "or you two wouldn't be in here right now. But I still don't like it."

"We're inside," Yub replied, looking around. "It can't be that bad."

Ben shrugged, still looking back and forth uneasily. "We're inside," he repeated. "Except that I can't sense any easy exit out."

Yub tipped his head towards the station where Wes had already plugged in his datapad and was tapping away at the keys. "We'll be out in a few minutes. And…well, you still have—you still have it, don't you?"

Understanding Yub's reluctance to mention anything that could give away their true identities, Ben lowered his elbow against his side to reassure himself that his lightsaber still hung there, albeit concealed by his uniform. "I have it. But I still don't like it. That receptionist was nowhere near as clueless as she was pretending to be."

"Then you can cut us a way out," Wes interjected, grim, as he jerked his datapad away from the station.

"Why?"

But Wes was looking behind him, and Yub whirled around to see a group of stormtroopers pouring through the now open doorway, with blasters raised.

From Ben's astonished expression, he hadn't sensed them coming, which could mean only one thing: ysalamiri.

"Freeze!"


End file.
